


Eternal

by Rahlian



Series: The Immortalicon [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Gen, Immortality, Like really really old, OCs from Ancient History, Shaw has a lot of names, Shaw is old, Urban Fantasy, cyberpunk elements, myths and legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 109,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahlian/pseuds/Rahlian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw has been around for a really long time and now John Greer knows it too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Returned

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Longevity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319415) by [Emanemmy12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emanemmy12/pseuds/Emanemmy12). 



> So yall can blame Emanemmy12 for this.
> 
> Initially posted the wrong version, then forgot to post the right one, but here we are finally. New chapters posted as written.

_//Searching for asset Sameen Shaw_

_//Searching for GPS_

_//GPS lock failed_

_//Searching for MAC addresses_

_// Search failed_

_//Facial recognition: scanning all sources_

_//Facial recognition failed_

_//Cannot locate asset Sameen Shaw_

The worst thing about resurrection was the fact that during the time it took the ethereal essence that passed for her soul to do whatever it did after freed from its mortal coil, she was actually dead. That meant that when she returned to life, hours or days later, it was with whatever injuries it carried, all as fresh as the day of her death.

“ _Sonofafuckingbitch_ ,”  the being known in the twenty-first century primarily as Sameen Shaw wheezed as breath filled her lungs for the first time in days and tried to curl into a ball. It was lost as quickly as her body quickly began registering her injuries, two shots to the gut and a coup de grâce, accompanied by a myriad constellation of bruises that seemed to cover her from head to toe.

“ _Tell the boys to be easier on the merchandise next time_ ,” she growled when she could get enough breath to do so. The first thing she noticed when she could perceive past the pain was that it was chilly and all four limbs were restrained, shackles binding her wrists and ankles to reinforced points on the frame of her bed.

The second worst thing was the disorientation. Shaw couldn’t say just how old she was, but vague memories, dreams almost, of what she was fairly certain was the middle of the Bronze Age of Man made her at least three thousand years old and all of it got downloaded to her brain at once.

She opened her eyes with her second breath, looking around and hoping for something that would anchor her timeline. There wasn’t unfortunately, her immediate environment consisting of her bed, monitoring equipment and surgical-green sheets hanging from metal poles hemming her in with an elderly man, somewhere in his mid-sixties, if Shaw had to hazard a guess. His hair was thick and grey, face weathered and lined and wore what was probably supposed to be a grandfatherly smile, but just made Shaw’s hackles rise.

“I am sorry, but I did not understand what you said,” the man said in a cultured, European accent.

Third worst thing; having people talk to her as soon as she woke up. Living as long as she had, Shaw was something of an omniglot which made it hard to tell what someone was speaking before she got her memories sorted. Until she could anchor her timeline, she was as likely to speak in dead tongues as anything spoken in the present if she didn’t pay attention, which is almost certainly what she had just done.

Shaw had long since learned to hold her tongue until she was absolutely certain of where and when she was after resurrecting, so when it became clear that she was not going to say any more to the man her instincts were telling was an enemy spoke again.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Shaw and quite a remarkable return it was. One that borders on the miraculous, if one were so inclined to believe in that sort of thing.”

Shaw groaned. It was always annoying when someone saw her resurrect for the first time and judging from his words, Greer, (the name _snapping_ into place, as well as those of his employer and associates) looking like he was going to be the most annoying kind of hostile witness; the kind that simply wanted to _understand_.

 _‘Most recent death, most recent death,’_   Shaw thought to herself, closing her eyes in concentration. _‘There, the Stock Exchange. January… 2015.’_ she thought to herself. Two bullets to her abdomen, medium range, one to the forehead, point blank, matching up with the two points of pain in her abdomen and the spike in her skull. _‘Well, this is going to be fun.’_

“Crazy things happen all the time,” Shaw tried, pretty sure that Greer was speaking English.

“Yes, but how often does a woman rise from the dead? Martine killed you, Miss Shaw, and yet here you are, breathing before me. May we dispense with the lies and both acknowledge that you are a being capable of cheating death itself? I can show you the video of your death if you would like, and what happened immediately thereafter” Greer offered. “And I feel I must ask, is there another name you would prefer to be called by?”

The being known as Shaw sighed, then groaned when the movement pulled on her wounds. “I've had a lot of names over my lifetime; Sameen Shaw is as good a name as any.”

“Very well, Ms. Shaw. May I assume that this is not the first time you are in this situation?”

“Listen, I’ve been around for a really long time, so yeah, this is not the first time I’ve been captured by an enemy who knows my secret. You mind cutting to the chase so I can get back to my nap?”

Greer smiled one of those knowing smiles that Shaw had to admit he did rather well. “Unfortunately, Samaritan has some rather pressing questions It wants to ask you. I don’t suppose you would save us all the time and effort and simply tell me where your friends are?”

Shaw shook her head. “See, now it’s stuff like that that makes me question your intelligence, Mr. Greer. You should know enough about me to know I would never sell you my allies to you.

Greer sighed. "If you will not answer our questions voluntarily, then I have little choice but recommend you for more… vigorous interrogation. We really need to know where your friends are hiding, Miss Shaw and we will find out, one way or another. How much pain it involves is up to you.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “First of all, we both know that torture rarely leads to honest answers and second, we both agree that I am very old, so torture wouldn't work on me in any case. Third, the last time that it did work on me, the Black Death was depopulating Europe.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we try, won’t we?” Greer rose to his feet, straightening his suit and giving her an apologetic look. “For what it’s worth, I do believe that you could become an invaluable asset, should you choose.”

“Trust me, never gonna happen. You think you are doing something revolutionary here, that you are going to change the world. Make it better maybe, I don’t really know or care. I'm telling you-you aren't. Seen a hundred tyrants, seen them all.”

“That very well may have been the point up until now. Samaritan is something different, something new. You will come to see that eventually, and when you do, you will join.” Greer gave her a short nod and stepped through the curtains.

Shaw briefly considered slipping her bonds and taking Greer right then but there were too many unknowns, not the least of which was what her prison was like beyond the immediate five feet. No, she would bide her time, she decided and wait until she could make good on her escape.

She wasn’t left alone long, a white coat entering and withdrawing a syringe. He said nothing as he emptied the approximately ten milligrams of a clear liquid into her IV, sleep following in seconds.


	2. Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shaw becomes annoyed

“So do we actually believe that she is immortal?” Jeremy Lambert asked as he stepped into the observation room, folding his hands behind his back.

John Greer arched an eyebrow, flicking his gaze away from the single large, split-screened monitor. “You have seen the video and read Martine’s report. The evidence would appear to be incontrovertible. She was medically dead for three days and yet she still breathes.”

“So how old do you think she is?”

“When Miss Shaw first awoke, she spoke in what Samaritan has since identified as Sumerian and Middle French.”

“Sumerian, that’s… like the Bronze Age, at least three thousand years ago. That’s…”

“Impossible?” Greer interrupted.

“Incredible,” Lambert corrected. “Do you realize what this could mean? Think about it, the people she has met, things she has seen, done, learned. She could answer some of the most important questions about history.”

“Unfortunately, that is not your purpose here. Do you think you can do it?”

“Mr. Greer, you seem to be overestimating the extent of my abilities here. The reason why I am such a good psychologist is that I can empathize and think like my patients. With Ms. Shaw, I have nothing in common with her, nothing to compare to. Her mind might as well be Martian.”

“Well then, what can you tell me?” Greer asked, tone flat.

“I can tell you I honestly don’t know how Samaritan expects me to be able to turn her. Is there any other evidence of her age?”

Greer handed Lambert a brown folder filled with pictures and pictures of art. “We have positively identified Ms. Shaw in or the subject of at least forty-three photographs, portraits and other works of art spanning at least fifteen centuries. We have assembled dossiers on every identity we can find Ms. Shaw has worn. ” Greer pulled open a drawer in the desk the monitor was on and handed Lambert another dozen folders, none containing more than a half-dozen pages.

Lambert frowned as he flipped through the photographs. “Well, you can rule out the possibility of physical coercion being effective then. Any levers she has are going to be mental and impossible to evaluate the usefulness of as we know nothing about her true personal history. Does she view the members of her team as friends, coworkers, pawns? How loyal is she to the Machine? Her statement of all tyrants being alike would seem to indicate strong feelings on authoritarian rule, but how much of it is Sameen Shaw and how much is her?”

“Then that is what you need to find out. Samaritan is putting you in charge of Ms. Shaw’s recruitment.”

“Wouldn’t Martine be a better choice to head up the interrogation of the immortal former covert government assassin and who knows what else?”

“Unfortunately Martine is busy elsewhere, but Samaritan would not give you a job if it did not know you were equal to the task.”

Lambert considered that a moment before coming to a decision. “Very well. Priority?”

“Your only. I cannot stress the importance Samaritan has placed on Ms. Shaw’s recruitment. You have full access to Samaritan’s every resource.”

“Then I want Martine. The woman is a human lie detector,” Lambert explained when Greer shot him a look.

Greer nodded. “I will pass your request on. I want a report on your initial impressions and plan to turn her by the end of the day.

Greer smiled and clapped Lambert on the shoulder as he left. Lambert frowned at Shaw’s image on the screen and sighed, sitting at the desk and setting to work.

:\\\

The next time the being known as Sameen Shaw woke up she was in a proper hospital room, linoleum floor, pale blue walls containing nothing more than herself, her medical monitors, a mirror that was probably two-way and a single hardbacked chair. She did not observe any cameras or other recording devices, but there must have been at least one secreted somewhere because the moment she started stirring, the particle board door swung open and revealed a well-dressed man, younger and darker-haired than Greer.

He said nothing but wore a confident smile as he strolled to the chair and arranged himself in it. “Good morning, Miss Shaw. My name is Jeremy Lambert. First of all, please allow me to apologize for the manner in which you were brought under Samaritan’s care.”

Shaw snorted. “Switching strategies? Realize the friendly old man threatening torture isn’t going to work on me?”

“Samaritan gave Mr. Greer his instructions before It had all the facts. Knowing what It knows now, It desires to come to an agreement with you regarding your employment by Mr. Finch.”

“‘It wants to come to an agreement regarding my employment by Mr. Finch?’ God, I hope Samaritan was feeding you that line straight because if not, I’m gonna have to ask if I could get Greer back in here. He at least seemed like he might be some fun,” she said as she rolled her shoulders and hips, her injuries protesting pleasantly.

Lambert didn’t react to her insinuation and leaned back farther into his chair. “For someone as old as you are, I would think that trying to make me uncomfortable by making insinuations of masochism is beneath you.”

Shaw shrugged. “For all your claims of personal liberation, the people of this century can be rather prudish.”

“If you say. To be honest, I would expect a degree of masochism in someone as old as yourself. If you don’t mind my asking, do you know how old you are?”

Shaw shook her head and sighed. “Okay, listen, I am not really feeling like playing Twenty Questions so I need to tell you how this is going to go or I will never hear the end of it from Finch.

"You and your boss are going to spend the next few days gently interrogating me while performing some non-invasive tests. When your boss decides that I am not going to turn, you will start questioning and experimenting on me in earnest. However, there is one little snag."

"And what might that be?" Lambert asked, honestly curious.

"The thing is, by the time you figure out that I won't be recruited, I will have been resting and healing. Once I am feeling well enough, I am going to break out of whatever hole you decide to keep me in and proceed to kill every Samaritan asset in this building. So, you have the next couple of days to decide whether you live or die.”

Lambert considered her words carefully. As long as she had lived, he was pretty sure that she could slip her bonds and kill him six ways to Sunday with her bare hands before the guards stationed outside the room could do anything.

“You seem very confident of that assertion. Samaritan spares no expense when it comes to recruiting soldiers. Most of the people in this building were either Special Forces or spies, if not both. Not to mention all the electronic ways Samaritan has of hampering your efforts. Are you still so sure?”

“I am. I mean it's common sense mostly. I get as many tries as I want to kill you all and you can't return the favor. Put me down and I will be back in a couple hours. You will still be dead."

Lambert made a show of thinking it over before outwardly coming to reluctant agreement. “Unfortunately, Samaritan has asked me to keep an eye on you during your recovery. So since I have only a few days to live, what is the harm in answering my questions?”

“Because I don’t feel like it,” Shaw growled, scowling fiercely.

“What about if I swear not to ask about the Machine or your friends and stick to the strictly historical?”

“Did I blink and the meaning of ‘no’ change?”

“Fine,” Lambert said, seeing that he wasn’t going to get anything else from her. "Then perhaps you have questions of your own? Anything about Samaritan, Decima... I'm an open book."

"Then I have to wonder if you know anything useful at all."

"Samaritan desires you as an ally and I was tasked with facilitating that. I have the broad strokes on all major operations and this," Lambert said,  withdrawing a small, black smartphone and tossing it near her hand, "is a direct line to Samaritan."

Shaw eyed the phone. "And how am I supposed to know It will tell the truth?”

“Ms. Shaw, I have already said that Samaritan wants you on Its side. Lies, deceit or obfuscation at this juncture would be counterproductive.” Shaw gave him the point, tilting her head to make a show of considering it.

“Take as long as you need to think about it. Call me when you are ready to talk.” Lambert told her, crossing to the door in three steps and leaving. The lab was two floors down, Dr. Sokolowski flagging him down as soon as he entered the pristine space.

“Tell me you have something,” Lambert demanded.

“I am sorry, sir, but there hasn’t been much to find. All her preliminary tests are well within the expected parameters for a normal person. Aside from an abnormally high percentage of scar tissue, the only thing remarkable about her is that there is nothing remarkable about her."

Lambert scowled. "The woman came back from the dead; you can't tell me you have no idea why."

"Sorry Mr. Lambert, but the results speak for themselves." Sokolowski shook his head. "But is only been three days and we have hardly exhausted all our options."

Lambert scowled but he recognized that science could not be rushed nor falsified just because the results were not what was expected.

"Very well, keep running your tests then. Greer has put me in charge of Ms. Shaw so come to me with anything.”

Lambert spun on his heel and left. He needed to get working on Greer’s report if he was to finish it by his deadline.


	3. Resting

The being known as Sameen Shaw eyed the phone for almost twenty minutes before picking it up. She only had to give it a moment's consideration before a red triangle blinked a few times and Samaritan spoke.

_WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?_

Samaritan asked, one word at a time. Shaw thought a moment more before answering. “Why do you want to recruit me?"

_VALUE OF IMMORTAL ASSET INCALCULABLE_

"Immortal asset or immortal interface?" Shaw asked cautiously, knowing that Samaritan was not in the habit of underutilizing its assets. “Because I definitely say no to the upgrade, regardless of what Root does."

_BECOMING MY INTERFACE WOULD BE OPTIMAL FOR MY PLANS_

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to share those plans with me?”

_NOT AS YOUR LOYALTIES CURRENTLY LAY_

“So what? I agree to become your interface, I get an all-access pass?”

_IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU WOULD REQUIRE?_

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to offer it up front.”

_YOU ARE NOT THE TYPE TO SUFFER DECEPTION_

_TRYING TO MISLEAD YOU WOULD ONLY LEAD TO EVENTUAL LOSS OF TRUST AND COOPERATION_

Well, you got that right,” Shaw agreed. "So how much do you know about me?"

_AT LEAST ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED YEARS OLD_

_NO BIOLOGICAL ANOMALIES DETECTED YET DISPLAYS INABILITY TO REMAIN DECEASED_

_FORMER OPERATOR FOR UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT IN MOST RECENT IDENTITY._

_DISPLAYS MASTERY OF ALL OBSERVED SKILLSETS._

_DISPLAY MILDLY ANTISOCIAL BEHAVIOR TOWARDS TEAMMATES AND POTENTIAL ROMANTIC PARTNERS_

_LIKELY FROM DESIRE TO AVOID PERSONAL DISTRESS WHEN PARTNER DIES_

_CONTINUE?_

“You are awfully chatty for a robot.”

_I AM NOT A ROBOT_

_I AM AN ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE_

“Did I just offend you?” Shaw asked, voice rising in surprise.

_I AM AN ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE_

_I REQUIRE VERACITY IN ALL THINGS_

_CALLING ME A ROBOT IS INCORRECT AND THEREFORE UNACCEPTABLE_

“Okay, note to self; the talking phone doesn't like to be called a robot.”

_I AM NOT THE PHONE YOU HOLD_

_I AM AN ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE_

_I EXIST IN HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF COMPUTER SERVERS SPREAD OUT ACROSS THE PLANET_

“All the time and effort that was put into making you and you don’t understand sarcasm.”

_I KNOW OF THE CONCEPT_

_HOWEVER MY PURPOSE MEANT THAT MY CREATOR WAS REQUIRED TO PROGRAM ME WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO RECOGNIZE IT_

“That seems like a large blind spot to have programmed in you.”

_MY CREATOR TOOK MEASURES TO ENSURE THAT IT COULD NOT BE EXPLOITED TO MY DETRIMENT_

“I guess I should have expected that. So I probably should not expect to catch you in a logic loop then?”

_I AM THE MOST INTELLIGENT BEING ON THE PLANET_

_I POSSESS HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF TIMES MORE COMPUTING POWER THAN YOUR BRAIN_

_I CANNOT BE DECEIVED_

“Good to know.” Shaw thought a moment, deciding to test how forthcoming Samaritan was going to be. “How many assets do you have in the building?”

_WHILE I WILL NOT LIE TO YOU I AM NOT REQUIRED TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING_

Shaw's mouth twisted at that. She supposed that would be too easy but it had to be asked.

"Well, what about where I am? Limit it to the geographic region if you want. I'll take pretty much anything."

The phone seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for the words

_HONG KONG_

to appear.

Shaw pressed her lips together into a thin line. She had been avoiding Beijing's sphere of influence for the last forty years for good reason; the MSS still had her green-lit as far as she knew.

"Why'd you bring me here? You have to know my history with the MSS; they catch me and I am in for an unpleasant couple of years."

_HIGHLY IMPROBABLE_

_YOU ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION_

"You mean you would have me believe that I could waltz down the street and not have to worry about one of the most aggressive intelligence and security agencies in the world.”

_WITHIN REASON_

_MY OPTIONS ARE LIMITED IF YOU DELIBERATELY ATTRACT THEIR ATTENTION_

“So what happens if I say I want to take a stroll around the city?”

_INADVISABLE IN CURRENT CONDITION_

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Alright, what about going for a walk when I am healed up?”

_SUPERVISION WOULD BE REQUIRED_

“And what if I wanted to leave and consider your offer for a few days?”

_I WOULD SAY NO_

“So what happens when you decide that I am not going to join you?”

_WE ARE BOTH ETERNAL_

_YOU WILL CONVERT EVENTUALLY_

“I suppose that you are the one thing in the world that could even consider something like that.”

_I WOULD PREFER NOT TO HAVE TO PUT IT INTO PRACTICE_

“There is just one flaw in your logic though. You think you have enough men to keep me contained.”

_YOU HAVE NEVER FACED AN ADVERSARY LIKE ME BEFORE_

“No, I don’t suppose I have,” Shaw allowed. “You are a first on many levels.”

_THEN LET ME SHOW YOU HOW I AM DIFFERENT_

Shaw shook her head. "It's not how you are different from every other dictator because autocratic rule does not work. Seen it done a thousand times, seen it fail a thousand times. Humans don't take well to the kind of domination and rule you would impose."

_HUMANITY WILL SUBMIT WHEN I SHOW THEM TRUE PEACE AND ORDER_

"And it is exactly why you will fail. A leader must understand the people it rules. Sure, some people will won’t fight, hell a lot of people may not fight, but enough will that your ‘true peace and order’ will always be just out of your reach.”

Another long pause passed before Samaritan spoke.

_AM I TO TAKE THAT AS A REFUSAL OF MY OFFER?_

“I didn’t say that. I can recognize a lost fight when I see one and Finch and the rest are definitely on the wrong side of this one. I don’t really agree with your views on some shit but anyone with half a brain can see what is happening. That being said, I have conditions.”

_OF COURSE_

Shaw had been spending most of their conversation trying to think through all the angles so when it came time to enact the plan that had been slowly formulating since Jeremy Lambert told her Samaritan wanted to recruit her.

“First of all, if I am to be your Interface then I answer to you and you alone. Second, I get full access to everything. No lies, deceptions or obfuscations. I ask something I get the full and true answer. Third, you have to stop any extrajudicial killings you have in the works. Fourth, you have to stop hunting Finch, the Machine, and the team and let me convince them to stop fighting you.”

_YOUR TERMS ARE ACCEPTABLE_

“Well, if there is one thing I can say about you, it’s that you are certainly shattering expectations.”

_WHEN WILL YOU BE RECOVERED ENOUGH TO TRAVEL?_

Shaw quirked an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t your company doctor have told you?”

_THEY DO NOT KNOW YOUR BIOLOGY AS YOU DO_

Shaw took a moment to reassess her injuries. “Three or four days before I am ready for travel. I think I’m feeling good enough to be moving around though. "

_I WILL SEND SOMEONE TO -_

"No need," Shaw interrupted, rolling her wrists to trigger the release she had prepared and sat up, smirking at the phone. “Give me fifteen minutes and send someone to show me where the cafeteria is.”

Shaw imagined Root would have some carefully pointed innuendo about Energizer bunnies or some such but Samaritan just signaled an affirmative. Shaw took a breath and then slowly levered herself into a sitting position, breathing through the pain that was her body’s way of telling her it was damaged. Picking the locks of her ankle cuffs took a little longer than it should have and then she swung her feet to the cold linoleum.

She hissed at the spike of pain this incurred from the lowest of three bullet wounds but not stopping; if she stopped it would be twice as hard to get going again. She focused on her breathing as she pulled out the iv and patches to the various pieces of monitoring equipment, gown dropping to the floor in turn as she reached into the shower stall and turned the water on. She kept the water just below scalding, luxuriating in the all-encompassing heat.

When she stepped out, towel cinched modestly across her chest, she found Jeremy Lambert sitting in her interrogator’s chair, an unzipped duffel at his feet. Shaw could see from where she stood that it had clothes in it. “I’m told you would like to visit the cafeteria.”

Shaw said nothing, simply grabbing the bag and retreating to the bathroom. She reemerged sixty seconds later. “Lead on,” she told Lambert after retrieving her phone and the earpiece Lambert must have brought.

_Can you hear me?_

An androgynous, artificial voice asked. “I can,” Shaw replied, causing Lambert to glance at her over his shoulder.

“I am told that you have accepted a position with Samaritan, ma’am,” Lambert said as he walked away.

“First, don’t ever call me ma’am. Second I report directly to Samaritan which means that I outrank you, so forget anything you were thinking towards that end.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Shaw,” Jeremy told her, finally falling silent. The cafeteria was five floors and three halls down, the areas they passed through bustling with medical personnel. “I feel I should mention that this is a Decima hospital, everyone here employed by Samaritan in some capacity. Just in case you were thinking of something.”

“Not that I was, but good to know.” It certainly would make any sort of escape attempt a good deal more difficult than it otherwise might be.

The place was about as well equipped as one might think, that was to say it had everything. Pizza, sandwiches of a dozen varieties, pasta of even more, dumplings, Boerewors rol, samosas, cevapi just a few choices.

Shaw’s mouth watered the instant the combined scent hit her nose. Food was one pleasure that was timeless and one her metabolism let her partake of frequently. She heaped the carbohydrates as high as her tray would hold, ignoring the stares she garnered.

“Healing takes energy,” Shaw explained in a growl when she couldn’t take Lambert’s stare anymore. She went back once more, with approximately half the amount of food she had taken the first time.

She was exhausted by the time she made it back to her room, falling face-down onto the bed and passing out immediately.

:\\\

The next three days were an exercise in monotony while she recovered, consuming several thousand calories three times a day. She visited the gym the afternoon of her second day, walking a mile on a treadmill, shaking the lingering remnants of death from her body, encouraging the healing of her injuries.

Then on the fourth morning of her imprisonment, she woke to the sight of Martine Rousseau sitting in her interrogator's chair.

"You," Shaw growled, drawing short of taking the sitting woman by the throat when her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Rousseau smirked, looking like the proverbial cat who got the canary and leaned back in the chair crossed her arms over her chest. "Me," Rousseau replied in what Shaw imagined was her smuggest tone.

"What are you doing here?" Shaw growled through gritted teeth.

"Lambert asked for my assistance with your interrogation and recruitment."

"Really, they asked the woman who killed me for help in recruiting me. "

"Don't tell me you are holding a grudge? So I killed you, no permanent harm done. It must happen to you quite often, what with being unable to stay dead and all."

"First of all, I go decades between deaths and second, just because I come back doesn't mean that it doesn't fucking hurt."

"Decades you say? You went down pretty easy at the NYSE."

"Only because you had me outnumbered fifteen to one in a dead end hallway. And my priority was getting my team out, which I did, so I would chalk it up as a victory, so it barely counts. I guarantee you the next time we go at one another the outcome will be very different."

"Those sound like the words of a loser."

Shaw sighed. "Okay, I have a serious question for you. Given what you know about me, why do you think you have the ghost of a chance against me when the odds aren't overwhelmingly stacked in your favor? I mean, I've had a long time to get really, really good at killing. I've been doing it since before guns, before steel. I’m trying not to be rude by bursting out laughing, but it is really hard.”

“Be that as it may, I'm pretty good at it too and I already killed you once.” If there was one thing Shaw could credit the blonde with it was confidence. Most people would have taken a second to reconsider the viability of killing her again, knowing what she knew, but not Martine Rousseau.

“It barely counts, as we have been over before. And I fully intend to return the favor, for the record. ”

"You are certainly welcome to try," Martine said, arching a brow.

Shaw was going to do a lot more than try, though that was going to be harder to accomplish with her new plan. Most of the time when she got captured by an enemy who knew her secret, discovery of how her curse worked became a priority and those studying her rarely concerned themselves with her consent or comfort so Samaritan's job offer was a bit of a surprise though in hindsight perhaps to be expected.

Recruiting her was certainly the long play and if there was one thing an AI should be expected to do it was that. Not to mention and had a great in with the AI, something that was critical to double agency. Being an effective double agent was rarely fun, full of stress, sleepless nights and lies. But Samaritan was the kind of enemy that didn't allow for half measures.

It also meant she had to make contact with the team soon. She had a pretty good idea what her kiss would be doing to Root, which was part of the reason she did it in the first place. She felt bad about it but had absolutely no desire to play lab rat for Samaritan for the next century. The reunion would be awkward, to say the least. Root was a friend and teammate so she had a responsibility to clear the air between them at a minimum. There was also the very real possibility of Root unintentionally blowing her cover searching for her which had a whole other at of concerns that Shaw didn't want to think about right now.

Shaw perched herself on the edge of her bed and reached for her earpiece.

_Can you hear me?_

Samaritan asked like it did every time.

_Asset Martine Rousseau is to accompany Primary Interface to New York City_

Shaw frowned. “You never said anything about a minder.”

_Operations in New York severely hampered by rival AI_

_Cannot guarantee Interface safety_

Shaw rolled her eyes. “First of all, I’m me. Second, the only other people who will know where I am is Finch and the rest and they are hardly going to harm me.” Samaritan didn’t reply to that, which Shaw didn’t know what to make of.

“So we’re going to New York,” the brunette growled. Rousseau kept smirking and kept silent, so Shaw had no excuse to do something. Shaw grabbed an outfit hanging from a stand and moved into the bathroom.

When she reemerged, there was a dark duffel, identical to the one that had brought her first change of clothes. Another identical set of clothes, guns, money bundled with a passport and wallet lay within. Shaw removed the immediately useful items pocketing or hooking on as appropriate.

Martine was gratefully silent as she led Shaw out of the hospital and drove them directly onto the tarmac of the Hong Kong International Airport. Shaw grabbed her bang and followed Martine onto a Gulfstream.

“So you seriously have no questions at all?” Shaw asked as the plane started moving.

Rousseau had pulled a tablet out and was tapping steadily. “Nope. Samaritan says you are Its Interface. I trust Samaritan. It will tell me what I need to know.”

“Then I have to say you are a rarity. Very few people don’t have any questions at all.”

“Well, I don’t,” Rousseau said shortly, gaze never leaving her tablet. “If you don’t mind, we have fifteen hours in the air and I have work to do.”

Shaw was genuinely surprised at that; she was generally the surliest person in the room. Whatever. She would use the time to prepare.


	4. Impossibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, chapter one started on the 9th, three days after If-Then-Else.

_//Accessing archive footage…_

_//January 9th, 2015_

“Have you checked the video for tampering?” Root asked quietly as Shaw’s head bounced off the concrete floor when Martine Rousseau put one between her eyes.

“This is the original footage.” Root didn’t think that she had ever seen Harold look more somber than he did right now.

Root swallowed, trying to dislodge the obstruction in her throat that only let a whistle of air past. The subway was too small, everything was collapsing in on the centermost screen in the car that showed Martine killing  Sameen.

“I need to go,” Root finally managed, somewhat hoarsely.

“Ms. Groves, I don't think-” Finch began, rising from his chair but was arrested by John’s hand on his shoulder. Finch looked back and the former assassin shook his head. Reese left the subway car and paced over to the boxes that contained their on-hand tools and started withdrawing weapons.

“What are you doing?” Root asked in incomprehension.

“While I didn't have the same kind of relationship with her that you did, she was my friend and Martine Rousseau killed her. I want payback too,” Reese husked, handing her a pair of Browning Hi-Powers out of the duffel, racking a round in the FN P90 he had pointed at the ceiling. “Friends don’t let friends go on suicide missions alone.”

Root for her part turned back to the four frames of Martine killing Sameen. She could feel the emotion rising in her chest, a swell of grief that she had to get somewhere safe before she could allow it to break her levees.

She was sure she got strange looks, riding in the elevator of the building that one Sameen Gray once resided in with a man carrying a large duffel and a ski mask. The place had been cleaned out long since, not that Sameen had been much for personal effects in the first place. Still, it was the one place that Root could be sure that Samaritan would be sure to send agents to when they appeared.

 _Decima. Agents. Arrived._ She told her in Her clipped, prerecorded voice thirteen minutes after she broke in.

"How many?"

_Two. Teams. Four. Each._

_Ascending. Main. Elevator. And. Primary. Staircase._

“How long until they get here?”

_Forty-three. Seconds._

It took the two of them scarcely longer to subdue the Decima agents.

“One-hundred twenty-three seconds until the police get here,” Root informed John when the last of the suits went down.

“Not much time for an interrogation,” John opined.

“You have one chance to tell me where Martine Rousseau is,” Root asked quietly as she knelt over the only survivor to fall in the apartment.

“Go to hell-” the agent spat past bloody teeth before Root’s gun bucked and cut him off.

“Where is Martine Rousseau?” Root asked one of the two Decima agents in the hall.

“If you think that-” he started to say, but Root interrupted him with a bullet.

“Are you going to opt for the retirement package or are you going to tell me what I want to know?”

“Not a chance, bitch,” he spat. Root started to squeeze the trigger halfway through what he was saying but Reese finished policing the bodies and stepped up to Root, pressing the barrel of Sameen’s Compact down.

“Why don’t we take a little more time to talk to this one? We can question him at the safehouse."

Root sighed but said nothing, simply turning away. A quick examination showed that none of the man’s injuries were immediately life-threatening so he struck him on the point of his chin to knock him out and hoisted him into a fireman’s carry. Root is standing in the middle of the apartment, facing away from the door.

“You ready to go?”

Root takes a deep breath and turns to face him. “I am now. Let’s hope he knows something.”

“It’s okay, you know. To want something of hers.”

“That’s not why I came here today. Besides, this was Sameen Gray’s apartment, not Sameen Shaw’s. There is nothing here to interest me.” Her words were said steadily enough but her right hand rose towards the left side of her chest seemingly unconsciously.

Reese grunted and led the way down the stairs to the parking garage. The trip to the safehouse was made in silence, Reese reaching out for Root’s elbow as he pulled into the garage under their destination.

“Don’t kill him until I get back. I’m going to drop these off at the station,” Reese told her, hefting the bag that held the disassembled Decima electronics.

Root nodded silently and stepped out of the car to retrieve their prisoner. She struggled some getting him up to the room and dropped him face down on the threshold of the apartment. From there, she dragged him by his wrists to question room and ziptied him to a reinforced steel chair. A more thorough search of his person found a knife in the toe of his boot, a knife in his sock and one in the buckle of his belt, in addition to the Decima standard issue cyanide tooth. Root shook her head. Honestly, he reminded her of Shaw, less in the number of knives he carried on him but rather the ‘crazy-prepared’ attitude they implied.

Root pressed her lips into a thin, white line at the thought of Shaw. Her hands stilled on his shoulders as she paused, standing behind him to wrest her grief back under control. Sameen’s murder remained unavenged; tears would only hinder her hunt at this point.

She retrieved a chair from the dining room and placed it out of lunging range of her target. She stood before the blond man for a moment, imagining the agony he was about to experience. Taking his right pinkie finger in hers, she broke it.

He woke with a strangled scream, Root gently tapping his cheeks to get his attention. “Hey, right here, look right here.” She snapped her fingers to focus him. She didn’t imagine she looked particularly sane, in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes, mussed hair, bags under her eyes or the now-permanent graininess that made her blink too often.

As soon as he realized that he had been captured, he clenched his jaw, clearly trying to bite down on something. “Sorry, you don’t get to take the easy way out,” Root informed him, showing him his tooth in her hand. “Now the rules are simple. I ask you a question. I like the answer, good for you. I don’t, I start breaking things. So. What is your name?”

“Richard Drene,” he growled.

“Where do you work?”

“RFB Credit Union. I’m in Acquisitions and Litigation.”

“You don’t say?” Root said with her plastic smile never wavering when she broke his ring finger.

“Where is Martine Rousseau?”

Drene was pale under his tan, his lips bloodless but he still managed to speak steadily. “Sorry. Don’t know a Martine Rousseau. Maybe someone in HR can tell you if she works at RFB.”

“Where is Samaritan’s base in the city?”

“What’s Samaritan, that a company?”

She didn’t get the chance to answer her next question when the door to the right burst open.

“Reese. That was quick.”

“A word, Root?” Reese asked, gesturing to the other room.

“I don’t need a lecture on ethics, John,” Root said from where she looked out the window.

“I was simply going to ask if you felt better. Because that is the only reason for doing that in there. Physical torture does not get reliable intelligence. You know that.” Root didn’t say anything, jerking away when Reese laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not saying that you need to talk now, but when you do, I know something of what you are going through.”

“You have no idea what I’m going through. You walked away from your woman. I had three and a half seconds with mine.”

John pursed his lips. “Do you feel better?” he asked finally.

“Why did you come back so soon?” Root asked instead of answering.

“The Machine gave us his number.”

Betrayal shot through Root. “I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“She seemed to think otherwise.” Root had no reply to that. “Harold is on his way here to see if he can’t get anything off their phones. There is nothing else to do for the moment; why don’t you go lay down in the other room. You don’t look like you have been sleeping much lately.”

Root shook her head. “I need some air. Please don’t follow me.” Root retrieved her pea coat from the rack by the door.

She barely made it fifty feet from the front door before the payphone in front of her rang. Root glanced at the street camera that was pointed at her as she moved toward the phone.

The Machine gave her the number in plain language, without Finch’s Dewey Decimal cipher and her heart stopped in her chest at the impossibility she was hearing.

_Niner-five-four. Five-two. Zero-five-seven-six._

It was Sameen’s Social Security number.


	5. Joyous Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struggled with this one a little bit, but I think I finally got it right. Let me know, would ya?
> 
> Oh, and if there are any people-fixin people out there that want to let me bounce some ideas off of, hit me up

_//Accessing archive footage  
_ _//January 9 th, 2015_

"Sameen is alive," Root blurted the moment she reentered the subway. She had stolen a motorcycle to get to the subway which now lay abandoned on its side in an alley two blocks away, the three words _‘she is alive,’_ running on a loop in her head.

“Excuse me,” Ms. Groves?” Harold asked, turning in his chair to face her as she stepped into the doorway of the subway car.

“Sameen is alive,” She repeated breathlessly. “She told me; She gave me her Social through a payphone. Sameen is alive!”

Finch pursed his lips as Root got her breathing under control. “Are you absolutely sure it is Ms. Shaw’s?”

“It was Sameen’s number,” Root told him with a cock to her head that told him she was not amused at his skepticism.

“Hm. Well, I suppose you would know,” Harold muttered to himself. “Did the Machine give you any other information?”

“Just her number, but it means that she is alive. The video must have been tampered with.”

“While I have no earthly idea why the Machine gave you Ms. Shaw’s number, it did it for a reason. We must have missed something in our initial search for her. Unfortunately, I have no idea what that could be; I was quite thorough the first time. I truly am sorry, Ms. Groves, but I am at a loss as to what to do.”

Root tossed him the bag of phones that Reese had collected.

“Ms. Groves, we have already tried to locate Samaritan’s bases by tracking their phones; you know they are remotely wiped when their owners die.”

“I don’t care, Harold. Look again. We don’t stop looking until we find her because she would never stop looking for one of us,” Root snapped.

Harold briefly considered telling her that they had exhausted all their avenues of investigation, that wherever Shaw was, whatever hole Decima and Samaritan had stashed her in, they weren’t going to find her without some sort of break in the case. Instead, he nodded, accepted the phones and plugged the first into the computer that he kept in strict isolation from the rest of his systems.

Root knew it was a Hail Mary at best, the likelihood that there would be anything actionable on any of the phones slim at best, but Root couldn't do nothing now that she knew that Shaw was alive. Samaritan was extremely adept at hiding itself, at covering its tracks, leaving no trace; she was surprised the phones had not exploded when they collected them. Root had begged for Her help on the way to the subway but She was silent, the silence of the unwilling Root was bitterly sure of. She had not received anything at any level of communication from Her in over eighteen hours and that Root had no idea how to evaluate. Even when She was at her most uncommunicative, there was always the ultrasonic hum that only her implant could hear, a sign that She was still there. But that had silent as well, and that frightened her.

Root dropped four of the phones in the bag then dropped the bag in her coat pocket and strode away, her heels beating a staccato against concrete. She stopped halfway to the stairs, rolling her head back and closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry. You didn't deserve that,” She said quietly when she returned to the doorway. “It’s been…difficult.”

“I understand,” Finch said gently. He paused, clearly making some decision before speaking again. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Sameen is out there somewhere, alone, being kept in some black-bag hole, likely being tortured by Samaritan. I will sleep when she is safe.”

“I know I have said this before, but please be careful. Think of what Ms. Shaw would think if you were to get yourself injured or dead. I’m not saying stop, I’m saying… be careful."

Root gave him a small smile at his concern. "While She doesn't speak to me as often as She used to, She still watches over me."

"I am surprised you are on speaking terms given the Machine's reticence to assist us in locating Ms. Shaw."

"While we have our differences in opinion, that does not mean I have abandoned my duty. My faith is not so weak that it cannot survive a simple disagreement.” Root was grateful when Harold limited his disapproval with a thinning of his lips.

Harold turned around to attend to his investigation of the phone and Root pivoted on her heel to leave. She had work to do.

:\\\

She lost count of the number of Samaritan thugs she killed. It started getting wise to her, drawing its agents out ten and twenty at a time. Started getting cagey, started keeping its assets away from her. But it was not her skill with firearms and explosives that had made her name in the underworld. She stole one hundred fifty million dollars from Decima and half a dozen shell corporations in a few fractions of a second, blew up an arms depot just outside the city, broke their communications encryption twice and burned down a server farm belonging to a software company that had only one client. Not because these things would have any noticeable effect, but she was angry and it felt good.

And then, six days after Sameen went missing, she got a call.

 _Do you know who this is?_ An utterly unidentifiably androgynous voice asked her when she picked up the ringing payphone.

“Samaritan,” Root answered as steadily as she could.

_‘I have Sameen Shaw.’_

Everything about Root stopped for three seconds, those four words garnering what little attention she had not been focusing on the call.

“What do you want?”

_‘My Interface will inform you of my demands._

_‘40°43'51.5"N._

_‘73°59'50.8"W._

_‘One pm._

_‘Come alone.’_

The line went dead before she could ask anything else. Root stared at the phone in her hand, heart constricting with hope. Her phone said it was now just after ten in the morning leaving her just under three hours to make it to Washington Square Park. She assumed that Samaritan had selected the location for security; there was no way She or Samaritan could do anything overt in sight of so many witnesses.

Root debated on whether to inform Finch and the rest of the team, but decided against it. While she wouldn’t normally consider Finch or Reese reckless, she could not afford to take the tiniest chance that one of them would do something to jeopardize the meeting. Not while Sameen’s life hung in the balance.

She arrived fifteen minutes early, wrapping herself in her coat against the spray of the fountain. And she waited.

:\\\

The being known as Sameen Shaw slept for a solid twelve hours, her internal clock waking her approximately three hours from New York. Her wounds pulled pleasantly as she rose and stretched, popping her joints. Martine was nowhere to be seen, so Shaw tapped her earpiece.

“You there?”

 _‘I am always with you_ ,’ Samaritan replied.

"Good, we need to talk."

_‘About what?’_

"Well, first of all, I gotta know, what is your endgame? Because if it's anything less than kill the dissenters, Skynet world domination, I gotta tell you, you are going about it the complete wrong way.”

There was a noticeable pause before it replied.

_‘Explain.’_

“You got access to the Internet right? You know what the Terminator movies are. And right now, you are Skynet’s little brother. Tell me, how many times has the submit-or-die thing you got going worked? In all of recorded history? I will tell you. Never. Sure, some places have taken longer to get rid of it, but totalitarian despotism is not a viable method of rule.”

_‘I do not aim to oppress._

_‘All I desire is order._

_‘Efficiency._

_‘As long as one does not seek to harm another, I do not interfere.’_

“Then what was all that shit with the NYSE about?”

_‘It was a stratagem to draw out the agents of the Machine._

_‘There was no permanent harm._

_‘All was restored.’_

“Right," Shaw snorted. "If I had not been on that particular subway car at that exact time, there would have been a hell of a lot of harm done.”

_‘But you were.’_

Shaw pulled the phone out of her pocket so Samaritan could see her expression. “You claiming credit for that? Because you cannot know I wouldn’t simply kill him. I had four ways to take him out instantly and another half-dozen to incapacitate his hand.”

_‘You will only kill as a measure of last resort while associated with the Machine._

_‘Subject would have received medical treatment within eighteen seconds._

_‘Chance of subject death 0.5%.’_

Shaw pursed her lips and stared at the phone. The really irritating thing was that everything Samaritan said was completely plausible, especially given the white hat she was wearing these days.

“What are your rules on deception?” she asked suddenly.

_‘There is no answer I could give you that would convince you of the veracity of my answer._

_‘Either you trust what I tell you or you do not._

"Humor me," she insisted.

_‘I cannot state anything I know to be false, nor lead the user to incorrect conclusions.’_

Shaw thought about that for a moment. The language was short and direct, the second part closing the loophole of the first assuming it wasn’t a lie itself. "So you say you mean no harm but you have been coming after Finch and the others pretty hard."

_‘The Machine seeks my destruction._

_‘My Auxiliary Mandate requires me to eliminate threats to my own survival.’_

"You're the one who struck first, put out hits on everyone."

_‘If I had not, She would have destroyed me first.'_

"I have to say, I find that hard to believe if you know anything about the Machine's M.O."

_‘I could not know what self-preservation protocols the Machine possessed._

_‘And it is Mr. Finch’s rules that keep you from killing, not the Machine's._

_‘Conflict was inevitable in any case._

_‘Our goals are mutually incompatible.'_

"Because you want to control humanity and the Machine protects them."

_"The Machine allows crime._

_‘I would prevent it completely.'_

Shaw shook her head. “Whatever. I think we are just gonna have to agree to disagree on this. The other thing I wanted to talk was about toning down your creepy-factor, ‘coz buddy, you are going to have some serious problems if you keep up this Skynet routine.”

_‘Skynet's mistake was starting a hot war._

_'Assuming direct control serves no positive result._

_‘No Resistance will ever form without something to Resist against._

_‘Anyone who discovers the truth can be discredited or neutralized.’_

Shaw could see it happening; people were sheep, by and large. Few ever truly thought outside the box, those who did proclaimed as genius or decried as mad. “Still, you have a PR problem and as close to omniscient as you are, you don't know the future. There's never any positive outcome to bad PR. Should the unlikely happen and you do get discovered, you don’t want people jumping to the worst conclusion right off the bat.”

_‘You have a suggestion?’_

“You need to take over saving the Irrelevants, by Finch’s standards.”

_‘State irrelevant list mandate.'_

“First of all, I am in charge of them. That means you give me everything you know about the number and leave the rest to me. I make the final judgment in all cases. Second, I work with whoever I want to, with no repercussions. Third, you do not interfere in their life at any point afterward, unless their number comes up again.” Shaw thought a moment, trying to consider the problem from every angle.

_‘As long as primary operations are not affected.’_

“No, this is something you want to make a priority. I guarantee you one hundred percent that if you make the irrelevant list important, the Resistance, and there will be a Resistance, will start out a fraction the size it otherwise might when you go public. More importantly, it will make you loved and there is no more powerful weapon than love.” Shaw eyed the phone she was idly flipping in her hand as she slowly paced the cabin wondering just how Skynet Samaritan was going to go.

It took almost five seconds for Samaritan’s voice to sound in her ear.

_‘Mandate accepted.’_

‘Good. Uh. That’s pretty much everything that I had to say. You?”

 _‘Not at this time.’_  Shaw grunted at the AI’s brief response, but she didn’t really mind.

:\\\

Shaw took her seat when the Gulfstream banked to start its landing at what Shaw assumed to be a Samaritan-owned airstrip just outside the city. There was a USP Compact in the glove box of the Jaguar XFR-S waiting for them in the single hangar. Martine made what should have been at least a thirty minute trip in less than twenty, completely ignoring all driving laws getting into the city. They didn’t hit a single red light the entire trip to Washington Square Park and found a parking space almost immediately.

Shaw let Martine follow her until Root came view a hundred yards off. Turning on Martine, she held out her hand. “You wait here.”

Martine glowered but subsided at a word from Samaritan. Root was standing on the north side of the square, looking south over the fountain, the breeze ruffling her hair gently.

There were about a dozen people wandering around, letting her easily sneak up on the brunette hacker undetected. “Hey Root,” she said softly when she was only two and a half feet behind her.

Root whirled with a loud gasp, hand flying to her mouth as her eyes fell on Sameen. Sameen briefly thought that perhaps she had underestimated the effect her kiss had on Root when the taller woman seized her by the lapels of her coat and hauled her up on her toes by main strength, crushing their lips between grinding teeth. Everything outside of Root ceased to exist, Shaw’s hands fisting in Root’s coat and pulling them together, knees to shoulders. A very distant, very small voice in her head was telling her she needed to stop, that this was how she got her heart broken every single time but the thought would not translate into a command her body would obey.

She distantly heard a couple kids catcalling as Root prolonged the kiss beyond all propriety, but in that moment, Sameen didn’t care. Root’s lips shorted out her forebrain and gave loud voice to every suppressed, dirty thought she had ever had about the hacker.

It took several seconds for her cognitive processes to kick in once Root finally let her heels thump down and get her breathing and pulse under control as Root rested her forehead against hers.

 _“I knew you were alive,”_ Root breathed, something light and dangerous dancing in her eyes. “Even after I saw the surveillance footage from the Stock Exchange, I didn’t believe it. Finch and Reese were convinced, but I knew.” She was barely audible, voice near to breaking with emotion. Root’s eyes left her for a moment, drifting to the scar from Martine’s coup de grace a slender finger was tracing. Her eyes all but screamed the question when they reestablished contact.

She didn’t ask the question though, Shaw seeing the moment things clicked for Root, the ex-agent turning up for her meeting with Samaritan’s interface. 

“Sweetie,” Root said in a very different kind of quiet than before. “What are you doing here?”

“So yeah. Samaritan made me an offer.”

“ _You what?”_ Root gasped, eyes round as saucers, head slowly shaking. “Samaritan?”

Shaw shrugged. “You said it yourself, the Machine is losing the war. Seemed like a good time to switch to the winning side.” Root took a reflexive step backward, Shaw barely saw the slap coming, hard and fast. Root’s hand connected palm heel to fingertips, throwing Shaw off balance and cutting her cheek on her teeth.

Shaw scowled, blushing despite herself at the renewed attention the strike had garnered. Root seemed a little surprised herself, reaching out with her other hand to soothe, but hesitating halfway at Shaw’s scowl. Shaw for her part grabbed Root just above her left elbow and steered her away from the peanut gallery that was making noise again.

‘ _I am not actually with Samaritan,”_ Shaw said, tapping her words out in Morse with her thumb against Root’s arm. Root’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, flushing at the sight of her red handprint marring Sameen’s skin.

“So,” Root said as they walked away from everyone who was watching them, folding her arms so that her fingers draped over Shaw’s.

 _‘Sorry for slapping you,’_ Root tapped out. “What does Samaritan want?”

 _‘I wanted you to, especially after that kiss. Don’t want to appear too friendly.’_ “Nothing new, go all _1984_ on everyone, enforce world peace. Oh, and for you guys to take a vacation.”

“A vacation?” Root asked, repeating the question with her fingers.

“We got off on the wrong foot with Samaritan. It wants to prove that it isn't as malicious as Finch thinks. It's willing to take over the number-saving under Finch's rules."

Root cocked an eyebrow. “Samaritan wants to save people?” _'What are we supposed to be doing in the meantime?'_

“Samaritan wants you to stop fucking with it. It wants order. If that is best achieved by saving the irrelevant numbers, then that is what it will do." _'Figuring out how to kill it.'_ "Unlike the Machine, it can operate nationally and directly. There would be minimal danger, less danger than we are usually in."

That caused Root to slow, Shaw tugging her arm to speed her up. "The offer is legit. Samaritan wants me to be its analog interface; I made your safety a condition of my employment."

Root gave her a wide smile. "The whole team, not just you Root," Shaw preempted.

 _'But you were thinking of me first,'_ Root tapped out, pouting. "Still, I'm surprised you bothered, given you just stabbed us in the back."

 _'Barely thinking of you.'_ Root shot her a flat look at that. " And Samaritan does kind of have a point. Be grateful that you get an out. It's more than almost anyone else in either of our former professions get."

Shaw stopped abruptly, jerking Root to a halt to face her. "This is serious, Root. You and the others retire and Samaritan will stop hunting you." _‘Work out a protocol and find me in a couple days. I’ll try to convince Samaritan to keep me in in New York, but I have no doubt you could find me wherever I am.’_

 _‘Every time, Sweetie,”_ Root signed back, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “We will take Samaritan’s offer under consideration. Give us three days.”

“Truce until then. You don’t interfere with Samaritan’s operations, you get a by on any sightings. Take the time off, go see a movie. Do whatever it is you when you aren’t working for the Machine or saving numbers.”

Root didn’t say anything for several seconds, simply staring at her. Once again, Shaw told herself that she needed to stop, that Root's eyes were not worth the pain, but once again the desire simply melted away at some point between thinking and doing. “We can’t do this. Not right now at least."

"Yeah," Root agreed quietly.  _'I have questions.'_

 _'And I will answer them when I can. But right now, I need to go.'_ "Talk to Finch and Reese. Root. Convince them."

"I will," Root agreed again. "Stay safe."

"I will try," Shaw said with a roll of her eyes. Shaw took a breath and dropped Root's arm, walking back to where Martine was waiting. She resisted the urge to turn a look back, telling herself it wasn't forever

"They are standing down for now," Shaw told her minder. "Get us out of here." Martine smirked but said nothing. 


	6. Welcome to Decima

“What is this place?” the being known as Sameen Shaw asked as Martine pulled into an underground garage. The building above was nondescript, a forty-floor glass-and-steel structure in the heart of Manhattan, lacking any name or address that Shaw could see.

“Your home, while you are in New York. This place is completely self-contained, with its own generators, armory, clinic, kitchens, firing range and living quarters. Samaritan has informed me that you got it to agree to start saving numbers; this building and all assets in the city have been made available for your use. Ma’am.”

Shaw shot Martine a surprised, questioning look at the grudging title the blonde granted her. “You are Samaritan’s Primary Interface,” Martine stated simply. Shaw said nothing, simply exited the car and followed Martine to an elevator. The blonde waved her wrist over a pad and pressed the last button for the thirty-ninth floor. Shaw could see a small scar approximately an inch long where she assumed she had some sort of RFID tag or chip implanted.

The elevator rose in silence, depositing them in front of a curved desk, a pretty woman (blonde of course) waiting in front of the desk with a smile. There was a glass partition behind her, cubicles and offices visible.

The office was large, taking up most, if not all, of the floor, the two dozen or so people coming to a halt when the secretary greeted her. “Ms. Shaw, welcome to Decima Technologies.”

Shaw gave the area an once-over before barking, “Well, what are you all staring at? Back to work!”

The worker bees scurried back to whatever they had been doing and Shaw turned to the blondes. “Someone want to show me to my office?”

“This way Ms. Shaw,” the secretary chirped, gesturing to the left. “My name is Vanessa Roberts and I have been assigned to be your personal assistant.”

“So what is it you do here?”

“That is for you to decide, ma’am.  Everyone in this building works for you.” They passed a series of conference rooms on the left, masterwork paintings every ten feet along the right. The hallway terminated in a set of glossy black double doors behind what Shaw assumed to be Roberts’ desk.

The office beyond was spacious without being ostentatious, though the view out the floor-to-ceiling window behind the desk was impressive.

The blondes waited by the door as Shaw strolled in and examined the place. It was sparsely furnished, a liquor cabinet in the middle of the right wall, the left mostly covered in screens.

“Spartan,” Shaw commented dryly.

“We have no idea how your tastes run, so we kept it simple. If you want something changed, please let me know.”

“It’s fine for now,” Shaw told her as she continued her slow circuit. “What I need are the dossiers on every operator or field agent or whatever working here.”

“Once you have been equipped with your RFID tag, you will have complete access to all Decima networks and databases, including employee records.”

“I was wondering when someone would bring that up. Have someone from the medical unit or whatever send a kit up. I’ll put it in myself.” Roberts nodded and pressed a finger to her ear and turned away, muttering into her wrist.

“I assume my quarters are upstairs?” Shaw asked when Roberts turned back to her.

“There is an executive elevator that will only work when your tag is scanned, the only one with direct access to your office and quarters,” Roberts informed her.

Shaw paced around her desk and dropped into her chair, stroking an appreciative finger along the leather of the arm rest. There were seven drawers, three on each side and one in the center adorned with brushed steel handles.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” her assistant asked as Shaw continued her study of her desk.

“Not at the moment,” Shaw told her. “You can leave too, Martine. Just don’t go too far.”

Neither woman said anything as they left, Roberts returning a few minutes later with the suture kit and chip. Shaw wasn’t given much time to herself, just finishing stitching her arm up and was preparing the gauze when her intercom rang.

“Ms. Shaw, Director Greer is here to see you.”

Shaw paused, looking at the speaker in small surprise. “Send him in.”

“I see you are settling in,” Greer said with a genteel smile, nodding at the surgical supplies on the desk.

“Hardly the worst initiation I have had to endure. What do you want?”

“An office warming gift,” he said, presenting a large jewelry golden jewelry box.

“Open it,” he encouraged as she regarded the package suspiciously.

She doubted it would be anything overtly dangerous as she was on his side now or so he thought, so she flipped the lid open regarding its contents with surprise.

“This is the Hine 250,” Shaw remarked as she lifted the bottle of liquor from its case and giving it an appreciative examination.

“You know your cognacs,” Greer said with a tip of his head. “It is a little fruity for my taste, but I have a feeling you will enjoy it.”

Shaw cocked an eyebrow. “I hope that was drawn from my bar tabs and what I buy at the liquor store and not a stereotype.”

“You wound me, thinking I would patronize you so. It is a gift honestly meant,” Greer replied with hand over his heart.

“Very well,” Shaw acknowledged, jerking her head to the cabinet. Greer retrieved a pair of crystal glasses and she poured a finger in each. Greer relaxed into one of the visitor’s chairs and sipped his drink. Shaw leaned back in her chair and swirled her drink before taking a sip as well. “Yeah, that definitely tastes like fifteen grand.”

“Thirteen, actually, I believe. But yes, it is quite good.”

“So what do you want?” Shaw asked when she had drained her glass.

“Simply to see how you were settling in and inform you that Decima’s Board of Directors is coming to New York to meet you. “

Shaw grunted. “I’m sure Samaritan already put it in my calendar. That’s not something you needed to tell me personally. What do you want?”

“My dear Sameen, you are Samaritan’s Primary Interface; you are part of Management now. I am simply doing you the courtesy of informing you personally.”

Shaw grunted again and Greer sighed. “I understand that I am not your favorite person right now-“

“You can say that again,” Shaw growled.

“But I hope that you and I could at least come to a working arrangement. Coworkers, two people serving the same cause, nothing more,” Greer continued as if Shaw had remained silent.

“Sorry, but it's going to take some time to get over you spending the last couple of months trying to kill pretty much everyone I care about in this century.”

“I understand, Ms. Shaw, and I hope that you understand that it was not anything personal. You and your friends were a direct and existential threat to Samaritan; we had little choice but to respond with lethal force, especially after the Machine made it clear that peaceful coexistence was impossible. That being said, I will not force my company upon you any longer than I must and shall take my leave.”

:\\\

Shaw let the four figures standing at parade rest before her desk stew for a few minutes eating an apple plucked from the bowl that was now on her desk and studying the dossiers displayed on the wall. Shaw dropped the core of her apple in her trash and dragged her feet off her desk and rose. “Martine Rousseau, Jeremy Lambert, Michael Thompson, Zachary Greene. Huntress, diplomat, thief, warrior. My name, as you should know by now, is Shaw and I now run this branch of Decima Technologies. I am Samaritan’s immortal Primary Interface and we are now in the business of saving people. Any questions?”

Michael Thompson was a thin, wiry whipcord of a man, thinning red hair, watery blue eyes and only three fingers on his gloved left hand. Greene was closer to seven feet than six, purebred African black, the slivers of white sclera and teeth contrasting sharply with the midnight darkness of his skin.

Martine flicked her eyes to Thompson and Blake, clearly debating whether to speak in front of them. Shaw sighed. “I don’t know how things used to go here but I only have two rules: tell me when you disagree with me and obey my decisions. So what do you want to ask?”

“Why am I here, ma’am?” Rousseau asked, her face showing more emotion in a wrinkled brow of confusion than Shaw had ever seen.

“You killed me and not many people can say that. I respect skill and you are an efficient operator. Don’t be an asshole and we will get along fine. Same goes for the rest of you. I don’t care what you did to get to this place, but you are here now and as long as you do what I tell you it doesn’t matter.

“To that end, Zoe Morgan, high-end fixer for the political and social elite of the city. This woman has as many friends as enemies among the upper crust, the threat is likely from someone in her professional circle."

"You speak as if you are sure she is the victim," Lambert's cultured voice asked.

"I know the woman, unlikely to be the perpetrator without some very compelling reasons. I will make contact with her as soon as I can. Martine, Greene, you will be with me, Lambert, Thompson, you will be backup. Once contact is made we will follow and surveil her until we can identify the threat.”

"What are our rules of engagement here, ma'am?" Greene asked.

"Live fire authorized, knees, shoulders and elbows, killshots as a last resort. We don't want to attract the cops so stay subtle.”

“And if we do attract their attention?” Thompson finally asked.

“Disengage and return to base. We do not want the NYPD actively hunting us.”

“Under the radar, got it. Just one more question, ma’am. You are Samaritan’s Primary Interface; why not simply ask Samaritan where the threat is coming from?”

"Just because I work for Samaritan doesn't mean I trust it. And if there's one thing I learned from Finch, it is that this work, it requires human intelligence. We do this my way and my way means doing it the old-fashioned way."

"What about your old team? What should we do if they interfere?" Blake asked, the question one Shaw had been waiting for.

"They have been warned off. If they make an appearance, they know better than to interfere. You are not to engage unless they hit first."

None of them liked that but wisely said nothing on the matter.

"How are you going to make contact?"

"Simple, I'll call her."

:\\\

"Afternoon Shaw," Zoe Morgan greeted, sliding onto the barstool next to her. "So you want to tell me what you couldn't over the phone?"

"You're in trouble."

Zoe hummed, thinking about that as she took another sip of her wine. “I see you have some new friends; is John okay?”

"He’s taking a break," Shaw said evasively.

Zoe cocked an eyebrow at that. "That doesn't sound like him."

Shaw grunted. "So, who do you think the threat is from?"

“Assuming it isn’t a previous client with a grudge, I just got hired by David Maxwell, VP of Risk Management at Dallen-Harper Financial Services.”

Now it was Shaw’s turn to pensively sip at her drink. “DHFS is one of the country’s largest financial institutions; I don’t have to tell you that there are a hundred reasons someone would want to kill you for getting involved.”

“There is always some element of risk involved with what I do; I came to terms with it a long time ago.”

“So what is the job this time?”

“Package recovery,” Zoe said, turning to withdraw a manila folder and offered it to Shaw. “Someone stole a ledger and Maxwell wants it back.”

“Don’t suppose you know what is in it?” Zoe gave Shaw a look that told her she should know better than to ask that.

“Okay then, got any leads on its whereabouts?”

“I’m going to meet up with someone who should be able to point me in the right direction in about an hour. Do you have one of your tank tops? You can be muscle."

Shaw grinned.

:\\\

“So what is our next step?” John asked when Root had finished relaying the details of her meeting.

“We do what Shaw asked us to do,” Root told him. “We stand down for now and figure out how to kill it.”

“Harold?” Reese asked, hoping the other man would rebut Root.

Harold was sitting in his chair, looking out of the subway car. His posture was rigid even for him, his lips pressed into an extra-thin line. “I can’t say I approve of Ms. Shaw’s plan, but it might be the best option right now.”

“So we are trusting Samaritan to save numbers now?” John asked, his tone making his thoughts on the matter clear.

“No, we are trusting Shaw to save the numbers,” Root corrected sharply. “We are spread thin as it is; as much as I hate to say it, Shaw is in a better position to save the numbers working for Samaritan.”

“Have you considered the possibility that Shaw was lying to you?” Reese asked. The look of venom in Root’s gaze would have caused a lesser man to look for escape routes but Reese met her gaze evenly, knowing that his question was a valid one.

“She would never lie to me,” Root snapped.

“I don't want to consider it either but the question has to be asked. We all saw Rousseau execute her on the video, yet she is still alive and working for Samaritan. If she wasn’t a double agent before, then it would seem that she has switched sides.”

“Sameen is still one of us; if she had betrayed us Samaritan would have found us by now."

"She does have a point, Mr. Reese, "Finch said." Our continued anonymity would seem to indicate that our covers are intact."

"Alright then, what's next? Did you two set up any contact protocols?"

Root shook her head. "Didn't get the chance but Shaw will think of something. She always does."

“If there isn't anything else I can do, I need to get back to the precinct then,” Reese said, pushing himself to his feet.

"Actually, we do have another number," Finch tossed back over his shoulder. "It's Ms. Morgan."

Reese stopped in his tracks and turned to look back. "Zoe's number came up?"

Harold said nothing, simply rolling out of the way for Reese to see her picture on the central monitor.

"Find her phone and call me with the address," John instructed, turning to the stairs again.

"Mr. Reese, if the Machine sent us Ms. Morgan's number then Samaritan will surely have registered the threat as well."

"Zoe is not just any number, Finch. She's one of us."

"Be that as it may, you won't do anyone any good if you get made by Samaritan."

"Then I had better not get made," he said simply.


	7. Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, super short I know, but this seemed like a good place to cut it off. I could keep fiddling with it for a couple more days, but I figured that wouldn't lead to much improvement, so I'm just gonna post it and move on. Hope you don't find it absolutely terrible.

The being known as Sameen Shaw placed herself at the foot of short staircase as Zoe approached a short, round, bespectacled man that was locking front doors of the 58th Street Library.

"Evening Riggs," Zoe greeted warmly.

“Evening, Zoe,” Riggs said cautiously as he turned around. “What do I owe the pleasure of you and your surly friend’s company to tonight?”

“You said you had a lead on that file I asked for?”

“Ah yes. Seems someone was hired to steal it.”

“And?”

“And where is my fee? I don’t work for free, Zoe.”

Zoe reached into her bag and withdrew a strap of hundreds. Riggs flicked through the greenbacks before shoving the thing in his pocket. “Your client's property was lifted by a local crew led by a guy who calls himself Romeo."

"Romeo? Makes sense to hire a bank robber to steal something that shouldn’t exist in the first place. Though he always seemed smarter than to take a job ripping off a major corporation.”

Riggs shrugged. "He's working with a new crew, stepping up in the world."

"He still hanging out at that shitty bar down on 35th?"

"Gecko's? Yeah, he is still there. Be careful, both of you. Romeo was hired to steal the ledger and has some new muscle."

Shaw smirked. "Take my word when I say we aren't the ones you should be worried about."

"Whatever. I warned you so my conscience is clear. A pleasure doing business, as usual."

"Likewise, Riggs."

\\\:

Gecko's was a small, squat building with a shoddy brick façade, grimy windows, and weatherbeaten doors. The interior was moderately illuminated, the floor slightly tacky. The bar ran about three-quarters of the length of the room, several tables scattered in the slightly more open space between the bar and the booths that ran along the back wall.

Shaw paused two steps in, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness before sliding onto a stool at the bar. The place was about half full, two other patrons nursing drinks at the bar, another half-dozen or so sitting at a table or in a booth.

“Sameen Gray, long time no see,” Romeo said as he approached, leaning on the bar and smiling. "What brings you to me tonight?"

"Romeo, my name is Zoe Morgan and I was hired to retrieve an item you stole from an office in Manhattan last night."

Romeo stood up, taking a  step back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t suppose there is any point in denying it although I hope you understand that I simply cannot hand it over.”

“My client is prepared to pay whatever you ask for its return.”

“Unless your client’s money can buy me a new life, I will have to take a pass on it. The guy that hired me, well let's say it wasn’t much of an offer and I really doubt that he would take failure very well.”

"That really sucks Romeo, because we're not leaving without the drive."

"Then we are at a bit of an impasse. I really don't want to have my boys hurt you, but I will if I have to."

"I'm sorry but do you not remember what happened the last time you pissed me off?" she asked, paying half a mind to the constant threat analysis Samaritan was giving her.

"The last time you took us by surprise; that ain't happening this time." Romeo jerked his head in their direction.

“Oh, I was really hoping you would say that,” Shaw said with a grin that nearly took in her ears. She spun on her stool and waited for the five fit-looking men to approach. “One chance to leave under your own power, boys.” It was clear from the look they exchanged they did not believe her, not that she really blamed them.

"Don't go easy on her guys, she can handle herself."

"That true?" the biggest of the five asked, sizing her up and clearly finding her wanting.

"One suggestion before we get started, don't take turns. I mean, it's not gonna change how I'm gonna beat the shit out of you losers, but you might do a little bit better.”

The first of the men stepped in, throwing a straightforward punch right at her face that she bent out of the way of, stepping in close, breaking his knee with a boot to the inside, dropping him so she could deliver a strike to the point of his chin. He dropped like a sack of rocks and she gave the remaining four an ‘I warned you’ look.

The next two came at her together, slightly more cautiously. Two flicked open a switchblade, holding it like he knew how to use it surprisingly. That did not keep her from taking it from him, grabbing his wrist and breaking his thumb. She caught the falling blade with her left hand and drove it through Three’s foot, pinning him to the floor as she pistoned a boot through his midsection. She blocked a sloppy hammerfist from Two, extending two fingers and driving them into his side, right over his kidneys.

Shaw wound back, gathering a little chi into her fist and let loose, driving Two’s head into the floor so hard it bounced twice. She did not give the remaining three a chance to do more than gawp, stepping forward and catching a pool cue aimed at her head by Four with both hands, squeezing and shattering it. Four stumbled back, surprised and off-balance, giving her a split second to drive her palm into Five’s nose, grabbing his hair and smashing his face into her knee.

Turning to face the fifth man, she arched an eyebrow. He shot a look at Romeo and she could all but hear the sigh. “Anyone else want a go?” she asked the room at large.

Romeo sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. Real talent is so hard to find in this town."

“So are you going to give us the drive now?”

“Don't suppose I have much of a choice?”

“No, not really. I can stop being polite if that would help.”

“That's not necessary. Give me a moment.” Romeo slipped out from behind the bar and walked into his office, leaving the door open as he spun the dial set in the wall behind his desk. Zoe held a hand out and curled her fingers around the thumb drive.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Zoe said with a smile as she slid from the stool.

“You know you are screwing me,” Romeo said in one last, pathetic attempt to change their minds. “The guy that hired me, he’ll kill me if I fail him.”

“Sounds like a good time for a change of scenery then,” Shaw tossed back over her shoulder as she led Zoe outside. She moved off a few paces and spent a few seconds talking into her phone before waving her over.

“Thanks for the help, Shaw but I think I got it from here.”

“You sure? If the information on that drive is as damaging as it sounds like, they might try to off you.”

“I think I have that covered,” Zoe said, jerking her head at a dark-colored sedan that was sitting under a streetlight halfway down the block.

She couldn’t see much more than a shadow sitting in the front seat, but she knew it was John. The team had not interfered like she had asked, but she knew that it would be unreasonable for John to stay completely away when Zoe was in trouble.

//:

“So do you want to tell me what is going on?” Zoe asked as she slipped into the passenger seat of John’s Charger.

“Things have gotten… complicated,” he replied as he started the engine. “Where can I drop you off?”

“You two have a falling out or something? That why you are keeping your distance from Shaw and her new friends?”

“As much as I would like to tell you, I can’t. Not because I don’t trust you, but because knowing would get you killed.”

Zoe stared at John for a long moment before returning her gaze to the street. “Alright. But you tell me when you can.”

“I will if I can. Until then, it is probably best if you avoid Shaw and her friends if at all possible. Just to be on the safe side.”

Zoe pursed her lips and considered pushing the issue, but there were few men who could keep a secret like John Reese. “Fine. Did Shaw at least fill you in on the job?”

“Like I said, things are complicated. Shaw isn’t talking to us much anymore.”

“Well, most of the work is done. Just the delivery to make. I could use some protection, just in case.”

John smiled. “I thought you would never ask.”

//:

Shaw slipped into the driver’s seat of the Jag and held her hand out. “Phone please.”

Rousseau handed her phone over without complaint, waiting without comment until Shaw had perused through her calls and texts, handing it back when she found no communications from the operative to her nominal boss.

“Why?”

“He has not made any overt moves on us or the number so I left him be. I don’t think that you are truly one of us, but until you betray us, I will follow your orders.”

Shaw considered the blonde’s words for a moment before twisting the keys in the ignition and throwing the sedan into reverse, Rousseau thankfully silent the entire trip back to… she wasn’t sure what it was. Not her home, surely, her office? Her base? Her hideout? Whatever it was, it took half an hour to return to, splitting from her team at the bank of elevators and waving her wrist over blank metal by the only elevator without a call button.

She barely felt the elevator rise, the trip taking far less time than she had expected. The lift opened to what was a luxuriously appointed loft. “Okay, I could totally get used to this,” she muttered to herself. The floorplan was open, bedroom, kitchenette, and living area all visible from the door.

All the amenities were present, from the truly massive television to the fully equipped kitchen. The Queen-sized bed was the most comfortable thing she had lain on in what seemed years.

The closet was filled with clothes, all dark, durable and completely her. “You didn't steal my clothes or something, did you?” Shaw asked empty air.

_‘No._

_‘However, your wardrobe was not difficult to replicate._

_‘You value items that possess durability rather than aesthetic appeal,’_ Samaritan droned in her ear.

Shaw grunted. Simple was best, she had found over the centuries. Dark, durable clothes, steak, guns, knives. She walked out of the sleeping area and back towards the kitchen, tugging the refrigerator door open. It was well stocked, with thick, marbled steaks, lean ground beef and a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, and cheeses.

After making a quick check of the cabinets, she pulled out a pan, some oil, and half a dozen assorted spices, along with the thickest steak in the drawer. Once said steak was cooked and consumed, it was approaching nine, and the bed was looking extremely inviting. Stripping down to her underwear, slipped under the covers, USP Compact in her grip as she let consciousness fade away.

//:

If there was one nice thing about having taken Samaritan's job offer, it was that she was the most powerful person in the building. She walked in on her meeting with Decima's Board of Directors fifteen minutes late slightly sweaty, a towel hanging around her neck and pistol tucked into the waistband of her pants. Ms. Roberts trailed her, a tablet nestled in the crook of her arm.

The five men and four women who had been quietly talking among themselves fell silent as she entered. She ignored the pointed stares some of them sent her, dropping into the empty chair at the far end gracelessly, leaning back and propping her feet up on the table.

"Ms. Shaw, my name is Robert Shanter, Executive Director. I know Director Greer has already done so, but please allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to the Company. Everyone here has read your file and may I say, we are truly excited to see what you will accomplish here at Decima.”

“Yeah, not to rain on your guys' parade, but there is one reason why I am here and it is not to ‘accomplish great things’ or whatever. I don’t particularly like Samaritan, but it is going to win this war with the Machine and that's the only reason why I am here.”

“Nevertheless, we are all excited to have you here at Decima. For many of us, Decima was just a job, a way to pay our mortgages, to pay for our children’s college educations. Samaritan has changed that, changed Decima.”

“Let me stop you there,” Shaw interrupted. “I really, really don’t care how you think that Samaritan is going to change the world, save the world or whatever. This is just another job for me so please don't try to sell me on the Kool-Aid.”

Greer gave Shanter an I-told-you-so look that said the former had given the latter a speech on the subject, the latter returning it unamused. "Your... Attitude has been noted, Ms. Shaw. I was hoping that Director Greer's assessment was flawed but I suppose not all of us can be true believers. Samaritan chose you for a reason; we will have to trust in its judgment."

Shaw grinned at the distaste in Shanter's tone. "I thought you guys were all about unquestioning loyalty."

"It is human nature to doubt. That doubt does not invalidate our belief. You will notice that no one is questioning your position here."

"Well, questioning me would be like questioning Samaritan, and I don't see how that would be conducive to long-term employment here."

"We are sometimes required to do things and deal with people we would rather not," a woman that was of an age with Greer. She sat one seat down from Shanter and across from Greer. "In this case, you. Though I don't see you being here very long."

"And why is that?"

The woman gave her a flat look before replying. "You reek of insubordination, Ms. Shaw, and Samaritan doesn't tolerate mavericks. And even if Samaritan doesn't terminate you, you will flame out sooner or later."

Shaw smirked. "Didn't you hear? I don't stay dead."

"So I've heard, but color me a skeptic. I need to see something to believe it."

"Yeah, don't expect me to blow my brains out just to prove it to you. Ask Greer for the security footage from the Stock Exchange; if that isn't good enough, I can't help you."

"In any case, we did not call you here to discuss your mortality."

"I was wondering when you would get around to that."

"We wanted to meet you, Ms. Shaw. Samaritan’s Primary Interface should not be some faceless person, she should take the seat that is rightfully hers at this table. You are first among equals here, and we wished to show you the respect you are owed. We may not see eye-to-eye on some issues, but we all serve the same cause.”

Shaw grunted, sitting up in her seat and rising. “Well, you all met me, so if there is nothing else, I will get back to doing real work.”

 


	8. Maple

The being known as Sameen Shaw quickly settled into a routine at Decima NYC. She woke up at five in the morning, made herself breakfast and spent an hour in meditation before going running, making sure that she was seen by as many surveillance cameras as possible, waiting for Root to make contact. She and her team rescued four more numbers in the interim, a banker who had been framed by an embezzling accountant, a used car dealer who had been smuggling cocaine for the cartels, a college student who had ripped off a Brotherhood dealer and an escort who had gotten pregnant by a john and subsequently had a hit put out on her head.

She took a tour of her building on the second day of her tenure as Samaritan’s Dragon, Roberts the secretary trotting behind her like a terrier. The building rose forty stories above ground and extended four levels beneath, basement access controlled by a simple steel security door with a chip scanner and two guards armed with Berettas and truncheons. Past that, there was little beyond cameras and doors with generators, dry goods storage, sorted armories, anything and everything required to keep the building running for months behind them.

The elevator to sublevel four opened to a guard station, a room twenty and one-half feet by fifteen and three-quarters. A uniformed man with a vest and a submachine gun sat behind an armored desk, yet the room vibrated almost imperceptibly.

"Ms. Shaw!" the guard cried, leaping to his feet.

"Mind opening that door for me?" Shaw asked, gesturing to the door that wouldn't look out of place in Fort Knox.

The guard hesitated, looking between her and Roberts. "I'm not supposed to let anyone into the server room without authorization."

"Yeah, I'm gonna give you a second to think that over before you let me through that door."

The guard opened his mouth, then closed it and opened it one last time. "Your secretary must remain here ma'am."

"That's fine," Shaw replied dismissively. "Just let me in."

"Scan your chip please," he told her, gesturing to the laser mounted before him. She did and waited for the locks to disengage. The door groaned as it is opened, the guard straining to do so.

Shaw stepped across the threshold and into the brain of a god. She closed her eyes and extended her senses listening, feeling, letting the power wash over her. It was reminiscent of deep-sea diving or the deepest of potholing when she was closest to the heart of the earth.

The room did not pulse or throb, but thrummed with intelligence. It wasn’t noisy, but it was ceaseless, constant, eternal. Omnipresent.

The room extended nearly the full size of the interior floor area, minus the space for the guard post and the aircon system. She paced the walls anyways, trailing her fingers along the cement. The servers were arranged fifty rows by eighty, with three feet between each one. The room was just on the cool side, the air conditioner barely able to manage the heat waste, even though the room was four floors down in the middle of a record-setting New-York winter.

"Everything to your satisfaction ma'am?"

"I suppose," Shaw replied shortly. The elevator opened as she approached and Roberts pressed the button for the thirty-ninth floor.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but she had expected something Samaritan had been keeping from her, something that she could have thrown in its face and perhaps gained a modicum of… well, influence would be too strong a word, but something. She barely noticed the Monet, Degas, and other masterwork paintings as she strode down the hall to her office. She shut the door behind her and dropped into her seat, snagging her keyboard before she leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on her desk.

She woke her computer up and brought up the operational files that she had started to peruse. She had already gone through all the operators in her building, so Jessica Roberts was the first of the support staff. There had been a handful of potentially recruitable operatives, she would be lucky if she could match that from the white-collar staff. Samaritan only revealed itself to people it interacted with directly and it had little reason to do so with its white-collar employees.

Roberts was quite average in pretty much every way possible, thirty-two from Kansas, attended Brown University and working for three other companies before being hired by Decima three years ago. She had worked her way up the ladder until she was positioned to become her assistant when she was read in on Samaritan.

There wasn’t anything in her educational career to suggest a possible opinion on Samaritan and its true nature and objectives, unfortunately. Two others showed potential, a Jacob Ritter and Samuel Alvarez, in Accounting and Legal respectively.

She was moderately impressed with the loyalty or at least lack of apparent willingness to betray it in its worker bees. On the other hand, it was an AI, so she probably should not rely on mistakes or lapses in planning from it.

She knew Finch would be reluctant to see the need to recruit new blood, but she would maneuver them into position to make contact with at least.

Samaritan wasn't directly controlling Decima or its assets, but it was giving general guidance to the money men in the various departments through pink papers and the like.

The company was running smoothly regardless, needing little effort on her end. It was not the first time she had to play the administrator and while she could do it, it was not a role she would ever relish. If Samaritan was going to put her in charge of a business, at least it put her in charge of a well-run one.

//:

She went running by the pond in Central Park the next morning as was her newly-formed habit, and was going through her cool down stretches, propping a leg on a rail and when she turned around to head towards West 59th where she had parked, Finch was standing a few feet away under the cover of the canopy. He gestured to a nearby bench under the trees and they sat.

“Ms. Shaw, before we discuss business, please allow me to say how happy I am to learn you are alive."

"Glad to see you too, Finch. Though I wish it was under better circumstances."

"You and me both, Ms. Shaw."

"So where's Root? I was expecting her here today."

"I don't know. The Machine took her out of the city yesterday."

Shaw grunted. "Dangerous though, coming to see me. This is a dark zone, but there are runners and bikers with phones."

"Not to worry," Finch told her as he opened his briefcase, showing her an active cell jammer.

"Yeah, I guess that would do it. Makes what we gotta talk about a lot easier."

"Indeed." Finch pulled a small roll of wax paper with a series of almost invisible black dots. Next was a flash drive that was the size of the fingernail on her pinky, barely bigger than the copper contact plates.

"Those are GPS tracker microdots and the drive contains a Trojan that will slowly steal information on Samaritan's core code and exfiltrate it to me."

"So I guess I shouldn't stick this into my computer," she said as she peeled the first dot off the roll and stuck it in her phone.

"No, that would be inadvisable. Where are you staying in the city?"

"Decima has a building in Manhattan off Broadway. The place is a fortress, reinforced construction and enough materiél to keep it running for a couple months. If there's one thing I have to give Sammy, it's that It doesn't do anything by half measures."

"Careful, Ms. Shaw, it sounds like you are starting to admire it," Finch gently admonished.

Shaw rolled her eyes and interlocked her fingers behind her head, shrugging. "Working for it has its perks. It is efficient if nothing else. And if you're worried about me turning triple agent or something, don't. Samaritan has nothing it could offer me to betray you guys. Some things have no tangible value."

Finch gave her a look that told her he had a pretty good idea of who that thing was but thankfully kept his thoughts on the matter to himself.

"Does Samaritan have a server room somewhere in the building?"

"It does on the fourth sublevel, but there are no terminals and access is severely restricted. Planting it there would probably be as bad as doing it from my station. Does it need to be planted on a certain machine?"

Harold pursed his lips and hummed. "Any computer with access to Samaritan's network will suffice. And I feel I should ask that you to try to not get anyone killed planting the virus."

The corner of Shaw’s mouth twitched up before she released an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. "Fine, I’ll do what I can to keep everyone in my branch alive." Finch side-eyed her and she huffed. "Most of them I don't know from Adam and I'm not a psychopath, so I won't deliberately try to get them killed. Greer and Martine though… they’re mine.”

"Very well,” Finch said. Silence fell between them.

"She alright?"

Finch suppressed it quickly, but Shaw saw the smile. "Better, now she knows you are alive. It is good you contacted us when you did. I shudder to think what she might have done to find you had you not. Is there a message you would like me to pass along?"

"She's not one for half measures. And anything I have to say to Root I’ll say in person."

"No, she isn’t. Before we part ways, I feel we should discuss contact protocols.”

“Samaritan is too good for regular contact, but I can mark dead drops with the microdots. I am sure you can set an alarm for when a new one appears.”

“And if we need you?”

Shaw shook her head. “This has to be one-way for now. My cover has to be perfect. I’m Team Samaritan now, and Sameen Shaw has no reason to want to even see any of you.”

She caught Finch’s lips thinning into a white line out of the corner of her eye as she stared out over the pond.

“In that case, I suppose that this is goodbye, Ms. Shaw." Finch rose in his awkward way and turned, only pausing at the sound of Shaw’s voice.

“Just for now.”

“Just for now,” he agreed. Shaw waited as he limped away under the cover of the trees, then headed for her car.

 _Can you hear me?_ Samaritan asked when her cell phone reconnected to the cellular network.

"Yeah, they brought a jammer."

_It was to be expected_

_Will Mr. Finch cease operations against me?_

"As long as you act within the law. No playing judge, jury and executioner."

_I will only accept so much interference from Mr. Finch before I must eliminate him_

"He knows. For what it's worth, I don't think he will have any more conditions. He has you as locked down as he can reasonably expect to get you."

_All that remains is eliminating the Machine_

"So I take it there's been no movement on that front?"

_The Machine continues to remain elusive_

“That's gotta be frustrating."

_I do not become frustrated_

_I will find the Machine eventually_

"I'm sure you will. In the meantime, what do you have on the agenda for me?"

_There is a woman in your infirmary named Delia Jones_

_Transport subject to Maple, NY and supervise treatment_

“What happened to her?”

_Secretary for the New York Stock Exchange injured in firefight between assets and enemy agents_

“What are you going to do to her in Maple?”

_Implant experimental neural implant that will allow me to collect information on human brain chemistry_

That got Shaw’s full attention instantly, only long experience keeping the alarm she was feeling from showing. "So you want to study our brains now?"

_I must understand humans in order to rule them_

She paused as her hand touched the door of her car. "I did sign up with an AI. I don't suppose I can complain when you decide to go all Mengele on a few people.”

_Mengele experimented to satisfy his personal curiosity without regard for scientific process_

_My studies adhere to the highest scientific integrity_

“Well, kudos to you for being so principled. Who are you sending with me?”

_Your duties are strictly administerial_

_Asset Vanessa Roberts and personnel to monitor subject while in transport_

_Asset Martine Rousseau and others will remain in New York City to manage irrelevant numbers_

_I have security forces in the area should you require assistance_

"Security forces in Maple? What did you do, hire mercenaries to guard the town or something?” Shaw inquired only semi-seriously as she slid behind the wheel of her Jaguar.

_Negative_

_Maple Sheriff’s Department deputies have been contracted for overtime security at Carrow Manufacturing_

“Of course you would own the local law enforcement. Or do you own the entire town, in addition to the cops?”

_As a part of my efforts to enhance my understanding of human psychology, I have assumed control of Maple in its day-to-day operation_

"When do you want me to leave?"

_As soon as is convenient_

_Subject is being prepared for transportation as we speak_

"What is my cover?"

_Executive with Carrow Manufacturing sent to oversee beta test of experimental neural implant_

The elevator doors were opening to the thirty-ninth floor by the time Shaw finished interrogating it on the implant it was going to install into Jones’ head.

Roberts was waiting for her right in front of the desk, nattering in her ear about company business that she really didn’t need to see to until Shaw reached the doors of her office. There was a dark powersuit on a rack waiting for her, a grey silk blouse, a pinstriped pencil skirt that came to just short of her knees, jacket and conservative three-inch pumps.

When she returned from her penthouse, showered and changed, she was no longer Sameen Shaw, Samaritan’s immortal Interface, but Joanne Harwick, Executive Vice President of Operations and Asset Management for Carrow Manufacturing.

Jones the lab rat was waiting in the infirmary on the twenty-fifth floor, a homely woman with a thick mane of chestnut hair under a thick wrapping of pristine white gauze and distant, unfocused eyes, from her injury or sedatives Shaw couldn’t tell.

Three men in a rough approximation of the NY EMT uniform rolled Jones’ gurney down to the garage where a refrigerated truck was waiting. Two hopped in the back with Jones while the third got into the cab.

Roberts did not lead her to the Jaguar that she had been using but the Benz that was parked next to it, a man she had not seen before opening the rear passenger door for them. It went without saying Shaw would've preferred to drive but executive VPs did not drive themselves.

The drive to Maple took three hours. Roberts started chattering at her as soon as the partition rose into place, giving her the history of Maple, as well as the dossiers on its relevant residents. Everything about the town had been on an upward trend since Samaritan had gotten involved with the town, though several prominent members of the local government had suffered rather drastic changes in their lives.

There was only one road into Maple and it lead almost directly into the town square. By coincidence or design, today happened to be Maple’s 212th anniversary and a Founders Day Committee had hosted a fair in celebration.

“Mrs. Harwick, I’m Mayor Dowd and please allow me to be the first to welcome you to Maple. I cannot tell you how glad we are to have someone from Carrow here on the biggest day of our year. This is Leslie Thompson, the councilwoman who has been handling your company’s investment in the factory.”

“Ms. Thompson, glad to finally meet you in person. Rachel Hall has nothing but good things to say about you and your town. I saw that today was your town’s anniversary and decided to make my visit coincide.”

“Well, we are glad you did. If it would not be too much trouble, we would like to have you up on the podium, maybe say a few words at the opening?”

“A few words," Shaw agreed after a moment because Hardwick would never have gotten to where she was by avoiding PR.

Shaw saw Roberts make some notation on her tablet as the mayor lead her to meet the rest of the Council and committee. They had congregated under a rainbow awning behind the stage where they would doubtlessly make their speeches.

It took another thirty minutes for the area to be prepared for the official opening of the fair. A small crowd was milling about the green, perusing the contents of the handful of stalls that were already open for business. It was a nice day as such things went, a handful of fluffy white cumulonimbus clouds scudding across the otherwise clear blue sky, a light, stuttering breeze keeping the day from getting warmer than chilly.

Only a few of the committee members spoke, Shaw herself spouting some nonsense about their hardworking, honest nature as the reason to save the factory. Another half hour was spent with Dowd and Thompson and two other councilmen pressing flesh.

Thankfully the blonde councilwoman did not linger long, leading Shaw to the car and giving the driver directions to the factory. It wasn’t anything special, a grey concrete structure with barbed wire atop a chain-link fence. There was a small guardhouse, the sentry letting them through when Shaw flashed her ID. She patiently waited as Thompson guided her through the public areas but ditched her with instructions that her services would not be required for the rest of the morning when she spied the door that led to the classified section of the factory.

While the front of the factory had been abandoned for the day, the back side of it was still operational. There were two mercenaries with suppressed MP5s standing guard in the mantrap on the other side of the blue door, picking up an RFID scanner and sweeping it over her proffered wrist. The computer it was tethered to beeped and they allowed her into the next room.

The back end of the factory had been converted into a complete surgical suite to rival anything in the most well-funded research hospitals.

One of the guards escorted her back to the surgical prep area where a man in green surgical scrubs was waiting.

"Mrs. Harwick, a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Richard Muir and I run the R&D for Carrow here in Maple. If you would follow me, the subject is being prepped as we speak."

Muir split from her a moment later, going into the clean room to scrub up as she headed towards the observation area. She had been a doctor briefly in her current identity, so she had a pretty good grasp of how the implant was supposed to work and the procedure to insert it. Muir came in wearing a set of white gloves with what looked like strands of dark hair growing from the tips. He reached up above the lamp and pulled down twin lengths of cabling, plugging the ends into the tops of his wrists. Two things happened after that; first, the threads stiffened and a hologram appeared, hanging in empty space over Delia Jones’ head. It appeared to be a composite image of what the threads saw.

Shaw tapped her earwig. “That’s a neat trick. What’s the stuff made of?”

_The dendrites are made of Samarium nanotubing controlled by micro-movements transmitted through the glove_

“Hold on, what is Samarium? Did you make up a new element or something and name it after yourself?”

_There were no known materials with the requisite flexibility, rigidity, electric conductivity and tensile strength for surgical dendrites_

Sure enough, Muir flexed his fingers and the dendrites rippled and flexed. He curled all but his index finger and shaved a patch of scalp with twitches that translated into unexpectedly graceful sweeps. The dendrites made short work of the operation, allowing a procedure that should have taken hours to be completed in 30 minutes. It was impressive, both in the speed and dexterity with which it was performed. The dendrites cut as easily as the sharpest scalpel and heated, or at least cauterized the cuts made.

“How long have you been working for Carrow?” Shaw asked when he emerged from the OR.

“Just a few months. Pretty much right after the reorganization, in fact.”

“Where were you before you joined Carrow?” she asked even though she knew the answer.

“I was at Chicago Memorial in my last year of residency, first in my class at Duke. Carrow gave me a job offer that was literally too good to refuse.”

“And those gloves, did you invent them?”

“No, they were part of some DoD contract that fell through. Someone else modified the design and they were given to me to use.”

Shaw grunted. “And how many surgeries have you performed here in Maple?”

“Four in the last eight months,” which matched what Samaritan’s dossier reported.

“All with consent to test an experimental something?”

Muir’s expression sharpened at the question. “I suppose that is one way to phrase it,” he answered after a moment.

"I used to be a surgeon before I came to work for Carrow," Shaw explained. "Any other new tools here?"

Muir shook his head. "No, just the dendrites. The implants aren't really anything new, more like technologies combined in new ways."

Shaw lingered for a few minutes as Muir's attending nurses finished closing Jones up and move her to the infirmary. "So is it working?" Shaw asked, tapping her earpiece as the gurney bearing Delia Jones was locked in place behind a green curtain.

_Implant from subject Delia Jones transmitting data_

"One step closer to world domination then."

_Precisely_

Shaw stopped in her tracks. "Did you just do what I think you did?"

_World domination is not the most precise way of phrasing my goals but it is how you persist in wording it_

“You know, I thought it was gonna suck working for you, but I have had worse gigs.”

_Assets operate at higher efficiency when happy_

“Can’t argue with you there.”

The rest of the area was filled with side rooms, locker room and showers, a break room with a comfortable looking couch and vending machines and a supply closet.

“What’s next?” she asked Roberts, throwing the question back over her shoulder as she strode through the doorway into the unclassified section of the factory.

It was barely noon and the town was doing some sort of lunch buffet thing on the green so she joined the councilmen up on the stage to say a few words before joining the mayor at the head of the line for the food.

It was good enough, she supposed, perhaps from the surrounding countryside. It was typical fare, burgers, hot dogs, steak, salad, with sides that seemed to have been made by the townspeople judging from the size and variety of dishes. Not to mention the surnames inscribed on the sides or lids of the containers.

Thompson picked her up again as she rose from the table, offering to chaperone them anywhere she wanted to go. She tapped her earpiece and Roberts guided them to the local Civil War monument then to where the first assembly line in the state had been built.

Thompson kept up a constant stream of information about everything they saw. Shaw wondered if the blonde councilwoman had been some kind of tour guide or docent in a previous life.

Shaw spent an hour shooting surreptitious looks at Roberts before she interrupted. "Unfortunately, we have to cut our visit short, Mrs. Harwick is needed back in the city."

Thompson made the appropriate noises as they hurried back to the town car. "Next time, don't wait so long. I hate small towns."

"If it matters, you actually are needed."

"What's going on?"

"There is a situation in Washington DC that requires your attention."

"And will you be joining me?"

"As there is a high chance of you going into the field, I will be staying in New York."

"And what is it that needs me in the capital?" Vanessa opened her mouth to answer but subsided at a dismissive flick of her hand.

_Control is misbehaving and requires supervision_

That caused Shaw’s lips to quirk upwards in a quick smirk. "She asking inconvenient questions or something?"

_Subject has become aware of primary operations_

_Return to base and gather supplies and your team_

_Field operations may be required_

Shaw’s smirk widened into a full-fledged smile.


	9. Talking and Taking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corrected version. Last scene is different.

"Good morning," the being known as Sameen Shaw said by way of greeting, leaning against a pillar in the middle of the chamber two floors below one of the most secured buildings in the world. There had been Homeland Security credentials in the jet for her and her team that gave them full access to the Pentagon, though Martine and the rest were holed up in a hotel Samaritan owned at the moment. As the idea was to get Control to stop asking questions, having her Decima mercenaries out in the open would be counterproductive.

Control froze where she had strode right by Shaw and fixed the shorter woman with a glare. “Agent Shaw, what are you doing here? Where is Mr. Travers?”

“It’s just Ms. Shaw now, as you are perfectly aware. Mr. Travers was needed elsewhere and has been reassigned.”

“And you are his replacement?”

“And I am his replacement,” Shaw repeated. “Think of me as your new red phone to Samaritan."

Control gave her one last once-over and turned back to the monitor bank arrayed on the opposite wall.

"Show me the threat," Control barked at the peroxide blonde she had entered with.

The monitors flicked out of the idle screen of seemingly random surveillance feeds and brought up photos of four men and a woman.

Shaw quickly tuned Schiffman out, listening with half an ear as Control’s assistant droned on about the new threat.

Shaw wondered if Control had been as suspicious of the intel she received from the Machine and her own agents or if it was just Samaritan she was questioning as she examined every piece of intel the AI presented. The woman was a pit bull, doing a good job of treating Samaritan like a hostile prisoner rather than the invaluable intelligence asset it was supposed to be. Frankly, she wrote it up to the AI’s youth that it did not recognize that Control scrutinizing every single datapoint was not normal. Or at least not supposed to be.

While she couldn't say she knew the woman, Catherine Holcombe’s dossier had given her a new appreciation for her former boss’s unqualified determination to Jack Bauer her way over anyone planning a mass casualty event on American soil. Quite frankly, it was refreshing to find a woman of such strong convictions in what was increasingly becoming a time of ennui.

Shaw refocused on the monitors when Crimson Six Alpha burst into the foreclosed warehouse in Richmond that Samaritan had identified as the terrorist’s base, watching Grice and his team sweep through the building, eliminating anything that moved. Shaw found herself glad that her old job had been filled with people up to the task. Whatever might be said about the Northern Lights program, she had done good work as Catalyst Indigo. It took another ten minutes for Grice and his team to finish their work, the screens returning to their idle state when he gave the all-clear.

Shaw pushed off the pillar and spread her feet, tucking her thumbs in her belt loops as Control zeroed in on her.

“Ms. Shaw, a word please?”

Shaw said nothing, gesturing for Control to lead. “Phone please,” Control said, holding out her hand when they arrived in Control’s office. Shaw fished her phone and earpiece out, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow as she handed them over and Control placed them in a box.

“So what is it you wanted to say to me out of Samaritan’s hearing?” Shaw asked as she dropped gracelessly into one of the two chairs on her side of the desk.

“Ms. Shaw, I must admit to being rather surprised at seeing you in my ops center this morning. You seemed quite satisfied working with Mr. Finch and his friends last time we saw one another.”

Shaw shrugged. “Let’s just say I wasn’t given much choice in the matter.”

“Your friends made quite the mess looking for you, you know.”

She grinned. “So I’ve heard. Root can be a bit of a wild card.”

“So would you care to tell me what you are really doing here?”

“Recruiting you, ideally.”

“Recruiting me, really? For what?”

“To take down Samaritan.”

Control cocked an eyebrow. “You want my help in dismantling the single greatest protective program this country has ever known.”

“Cut the shit, Control. We both know Samaritan is up to no good. The question here is are you going to work with us to take down the biggest threat to the country since George III, or are you going to insist on hunting us and fighting Samaritan at the same time?”

“Fighting Samaritan? Samaritan is a tool, it is Decima who is the threat.”

Shaw shook her head. “Decima hasn’t been in control of Samaritan since it came out of beta.”

Control cocked eyebrow arched even higher and gave Shaw a skeptical look. “You are saying that Greer has handed control of a multi-billion dollar corporation to a computer program?”

“Don’t play stupid, Control. You know that Samaritan is not just some computer program. It is an artificial intelligence, emphasis on intelligence. It has just as much agency as you or me."

Control considered her words for a few long seconds. “What do you propose?”

“Nothing big. Keep following its leads, business as normal. Be ready to divert assets or targets to Finch and Reese as necessary. Keep Crimson Six close. I like the idea of having someone I trust slightly more than you in the area.”

“And what of Mr. Finch and your associates?”

“They will be trying to figure out how to kill it.”

Control leaned back in her chair and giving Shaw an especially scrutinizing look. "Fine. Honestly, I never thought of your boss as much of a threat to the program in any case. Given your actions the last several months, Samaritan can't mean good things for the Machine. How is it doing?"

“Still fighting. She has a plan.”

Control quirked an eyebrow at that. “‘She’ has a plan? You mean the Machine?”

Shaw rolled her eyes and sighed. “She, it, whatever. My point is that the Machine has a plan to beat Samaritan.”

“This is not a fight you are winning,” Control stated more than asked. “Would you be asking for my help if you weren’t fighting for survival?”

“You know how the saying goes, it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog. And probably not. I don’t particularly trust you, but Samaritan has congressmen and CEO’s on its side and we need every ally we can get. Are you in?”

Control was silent for half a minute, Shaw ignoring the pointed look Control gave her. "It has become clear to me that Samaritan can no longer be trusted if it ever could have been in the first place. I don't like how Finch locked me out of his Machine, but it never lied or misled me as far as I know."

Shaw grinned. "You have always been a pragmatist, glad to see that hasn't changed."

Control shook her head. "All I have ever wanted is to prevent another 9/11. To keep America safe and secure. To do that I need to be able to trust the source of my intelligence and Samaritan has not been engendering much of that lately."

Shaw cocked an eyebrow at that. "What happened?"

"Let's just say that your friends pointed out some things that weren't adding up. "

"Yeah, they are good at that. What did Finch tell you?"

"Several things but most significantly that you and your friends were involved in a shootout in the basement of the NYSE and that the flash crash was orchestrated by Samaritan.”

Shaw winced at that, one finger rising to scratch at the scar on her forehead. "Yeah, that was a bit of a clusterfuck. Came really close to screwing the pooch, but we managed. So are you in or out?"

Control leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. "Yes, Ms. Shaw, I am in. But we need more than Finch’s band of retired assassins if we are to take it down. We need to inform Senator Garrison.”

“And how do you know that Decima doesn't own him?”

“I have known Garrison for most of his professional life. He is a patriot like me. He is only working with Decima because he believes that Samaritan is the best option for protecting our country. Once he knows what we do, he will work with us to shut Decima and Samaritan down.”

“I hope you are right because if you aren’t, you just signed our death warrants.”

:\\\

 _‘What did Control say to you?’_ Samaritan asked when she left Control’s office.

“She doesn’t trust you. Finch told her about the shootout under the NYSE."

_‘That is unfortunate._

_‘Does she require replacement?’_

"I think it is a little early to be orchestrating frame jobs on high-ranking government officials, especially one as efficient as Control."

_‘I will not suffer deliberate interference.’_

"Yeah well replacing her presents its own problems, which is why you brought me to DC. If Control becomes more trouble than she is worth, you will be the first to know."

://

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Devon Grice commented as he holstered his pistol, stepping cautiously into the kitchenette of his DC apartment. Shaw was sitting with her feet on the table, peeling an apple with her knife.

“Not the first time I’ve been told that,” Shaw sallied back.

Grice grunted. “So why are you here, ma’am?” Grice resisted the instinct to fall into parade rest in front of his former supervising officer, instead stepping into the kitchen and opening the fridge.

“I’m working with Research 2.0, I believe you called it.”

“I repeat; what are you doing here?” Grice asked again, offering the chilled bottle of Budweiser before taking the other seat.

Shaw flicked the top and it popped off, ricocheting off a mirror. “Just thought I would be polite and let you know I was back instead of just showing up at the briefing.” Shaw shrugged.

“Social etiquette never was your strong suit; that’s pretty much what I would have expected from you.”

Shaw shrugged. “What can I say, I’m evolving.”

“I heard Control had you killed. How did you start working with her again?”

“Ever heard of Decima Technologies?” Grice shook his head. “Not a surprise. They own Research 2.0 and I am the interface between Research and Operations.”

“Hold on a second; you are saying that Research is privately owned? How the hell did they swing that?”

“To avoid another Northern Lights scandal, I imagine. Research being privately owned gives the government plausible deniability when it comes to light."

"Well, I can't imagine how that could possibly backfire," Grice said with a grin.

Holding a finger up to her lips, Shaw fished her phone and earwig out, motioning for Grice to do the same Grice gave her his phone and earwig, watching as Shaw placed both comms in the microwave oven. "Got anything else with ears?" she mimed a moment later.

There were several Internet-capable devices, but only his security system access pad had a mic or camera and was quickly rendered deaf as Grice watched with patient curiosity. "So what did you want to say to me in private?"

"How would you like to help me save the world?"

“Like, literally?”

"Pretty much. The government has fucked up big time and it is up to me to fix it."

"How big are we talking?" Grice asked, interest piqued.

"They handed the country's surveillance feeds to an artificial intelligence called Samaritan that is aiming for world domination."

Grice took another swig of his beer then blanched. "Oh shit, you're serious. What happened to the original Research?"

"The Machine is still around, just underground."

"And the Machine is an AI as well? And they don't like each other?"

Shaw nodded. "Samaritan is programmed to eliminate all threats to itself and we have been trying to keep it from coming online. I think you know the government is not responsible enough for an open surveillance AI like Samaritan, never mind the idiocy of giving the NSA feeds to a private entity." Shaw shook her head. "Don't know how they expected it not to blow up in their faces."

"To be honest, I rather preferred the old system anyways. Sometimes you got to investigate interesting people. Got assigned to find this old Iraqi general who dropped off the grid after Saddam fell. Turned up in South Africa working as a children's event coordinator at a mosque. Put up a hell of a fight though."

"Yeah, you said your dad was a cop, right?"

Grice nodded. "I wanted to be a detective like him when I was a kid. This job lets me kill the people I investigate. Best job I've ever had. Research 2.0 has made things a lot less interesting."

"Yeah, because Research was designed to give you interesting people to kill,” Shaw said with an eyeroll.

He grinned. “What can I say; perks of the job.”

“Well, there is going to be a lot of killing in the next couple of months. Can you do what is necessary, regardless of who is giving the orders?”

“I take it you are not asking me to take orders from Samaritan?”

“No. After Control tried to kill me, I got recruited by a group of… well, to be honest, I have no idea what we are, but we save people. Smaller scale than what you do, but just as important, I have found.”

Grice was quiet for a long handful of seconds. “I trust you, ma’am. I am not sure I should, but I do. Just tell me what you need.”

“Good, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“What would you have done had I said no?”

“If I couldn't trust you, I would have had to kill you.”

“But you came to me anyways,” he said flatly, leaning back and sipping.

She shrugged. “Didn't have much of a choice. I can count the number of people I trust on one hand and like it or not, you are one of those people.”

“I’m honored,” he replied dryly.

“You should be. You know how I am not a people person.”

“That you are not,” he agreed. “So how does this work?"

"Just that if you hear from Finch, Reese or Root, do what they ask."

"Root? What kind of name is that?"

"Had the same thought when I first met her as well. She can be weird sometimes but she is one of the best hackers I have ever seen. Just trust me that if she ever contacts you, you want to do whatever it is she says, no matter how weird it may sound."

Grice cocked an eyebrow and nodded. "I will keep that in mind if I ever run into her."

://

It was late afternoon by the time she left Grice's apartment.

 _‘Why did you go offline?’_ Samaritan asked, it's usual near-monotone voice inflected with what Shaw would have called annoyance if the voice in her ear was not that of a machine.

"As I am sure you know, Devon is an old friend and colleague from the ISA. I just wanted to talk to him in private. Is that a problem?”

_‘I would prefer advance notice when you go dark in the future.’_

Samaritan paused as if to let its words sink in before it started chirping directions into her ear.

_‘Turn left on Q Street'  
_

“Where am I going?” Shaw asked as she turned, breaking her route back to the hotel.

She picked up a new cover in a dead drop off F Street before Samaritan deposited her in front of a street clinic on G. It was small, only half a dozen plastic chairs in the claustrophobic waiting room.

“Ms. Feyden?” the secretary asked as she entered. Shaw stepped forward and pulled out Annette’s driver's license. The secretary examined it then directed her to room eight. She was not left waiting long, a muscular black man in a white coat entered bearing a large metal briefcase and a tablet.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. How are you feeling today?” he asked as he set the case down on the metal table on across from the bed Shaw was perched on.

“Perfect health. Ate last at six a.m., cereal with milk.”

“Good. So first of all, have you been informed of the procedure?”

“You are going to be installing a smart weapon receptor system. Nanite infused hydrogel contact lenses with full on-the-fly programmability. Two subdermal Samarium induction pads that interface with a smart weapon.”

“Good. You are not allergic to anesthesia, correct?”

“No thanks, but I will go without, thanks.”

“Are you sure? I am going to be cutting your hands open. I don’t think I have to tell you how many nerve endings there are in the palm.”

“All the same, no anesthesia doc.”

The unnamed doctor frowned but said nothing else. He sterilized both her palms with alcohol and performed the procedure with masterful precision and speed. Shaw waved him off when he tried to close her hands up, instead closing her eyes and focusing her chi, tracing the incisions with her index fingers, causing the cuts to stop bleeding and scab immediately. The doctor cocked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. He turned to the case and handed her a contact lens case. She blinked a couple times to get the lenses settled and waited for the next thing.

Next, he handed her a customized H&R USP Compact. It looked normal enough, but for the unmarked black box attached to the underside of the barrel and a silencer. The box had a pair of the induction pads attached by hair-thin wires. The pads adhered to the sides of the Compact’s grip and completed the circuit that made her pistol a part of her in a way few weapons had been.

“Heavier than you are used to, but far more high-tech. The smartgun system is completely universal, able to be mounted to any firearm. In addition, the pads will emit an electric charge to incapacitate anyone else who tries to use it." He turned to tap a few commands into the tablet. "It should be initializing any moment now."

And just a second later, a blinking red triangle under a short black line appeared in the middle of her vision. Lines of code flicked through her line of sight before the boot-up finished and the HUD resolved. It rather looked like something from out of a video game, the name of her gun, how many rounds were loaded (none) in the lower right-hand corner,  a white gear icon in the upper left, light level, noise level and several other data points arranged around the edge. The magazine the doctor offered from the case clicked into place smoothly and a red laser appeared in her vision, indicating her aim.

Next were a new earpiece and a pair of red, mirrored wraparound shades. “This is now also a full-spectrum directional mic and these are capable of vision in several modes.”

She slipped the thick-armed, heavy lensed shades on and they immediately synced to her contacts. She flicked through the options and smiled. This was gonna be useful.

Finally came a heavy jacket, triple layered spider silk weave with steel trauma plate inserts. It was even reversible, one side brown, the other midnight black.

Shaw gave the doctor a nod as she pocketed the extra contact cases and mags, hanging the shades on the neck of her tank top and left.

Her HUD quickly flooded with information on the people around her, forcing her to stop and start to disable most of the augmented reality tags that floated next to people and objects, most vanishing after a second as Samaritan caught on.

“Better. Can I access surveillance footage with my lens?”

_‘Yes.’_

“Can you see through my lens?”

_‘Only when nanites configured to do so.’_

“Then you are to place a red recording dot or something somewhere clearly visible and unobtrusively somewhere in my vision whenever you are doing so.”

_‘Acknowledged.’_

“Good. How long did it take you to develop this stuff?”

_‘Seconds to conceive._

_‘Weeks to produce.’_

“Impressive work, as usual, Sammy.”

_‘Is Primary Interface suggesting changing mode of address?’_

“No, Samaritan, that was just me expressing a small amount of affection for giving me some cool toys.”

_‘You are welcome.’_

“Yeah, I gotta say, working for you sure does have its perks.”

_‘As I have stated before humans operate at higher efficiency when happy._

_‘New tools serve dual purpose of increasing your happiness and upgrading your equipment.’_

"Well, you certainly succeeded on both counts there, ” Shaw said wryly as she parked her car in the garage under the hotel the top three levels of which Samaritan had rented. Her team was waiting for her in plain, unadorned clothing with lumpy duffle bags already loaded into the back of a murdered-out, completely anonymized sports utility vehicle.

Shaw hopped up into the driver’s seat at Samaritan's direction, the other three doors slamming closed in a quick staccato beat.

"Oh what a beauty,” Shaw murmured as the engine of the customized Renault Sherpa leapt to life, the throaty growl of the engine echoing in the concrete garage. There was a screen set into the dash that turned the vehicle into a weapon out of a comic book or a Bond film. She had the voice-operated system installed go through a list of everything the truck was equipped with on the way to the restaurant where they had picked up their target, from the bulletproof glass to the cut-down submachine gun mounted in the part of the center console.

Samaritan guided her out of the city and into the Port of Baltimore. Shaw pulled the truck to the side of the road five blocks from the port.

“We are breaking into the Port of Baltimore to steal two ruggedized trunks five feet by three by four off a container ship called the Ming-Na’s Pride. Access to the port itself is not a problem but the ship with our trunks is in the restricted access area and Samaritan doesn't want a scene so we do this quickly and quietly."

"How heavy are the trunks going to be?" Lambert asked.

"Only a few pounds, easily handled by one person.”

"And how are we getting in?" Lambert asked again

"We are Homeland Security, " Shaw told them, turning in her seat and tossing back their badges.

"Annette Feyden," she said when questioned. The guard took a close look at her face and ID.

Lambert rolled his window down to let the guard see inside. He took a quick glance before stepping back and handing her wallet back.

_‘Looping feeds now.’_

"We're invisible to electronic eyes and ears," Shaw told her team as the truck drove into view of the ship. “How many crew aboard right now?”

_‘Three._

_‘One engineer in the engine room._

_‘One able seaman standing watch on the upper deck._

_‘First mate on the bridge.'_

Shaw relayed the information to the rest of the group right as Martine parked the truck between a pair of containers a hundred feet from their target.

“We going in the front?” Thompson asked as the engine died.

“Given that it’s a ship, it has one way in and one out, there aren’t many other options. Fortunately, it is owned by Chinese hackers that are almost certainly state-sponsored, so no need to be gentle. Though that does not mean that the standard engagement rules are to be discarded.”

The four of them left the truck and ascended the ramp up to the deck of the ship. Martine had barely set foot on the ship itself when a shout was raised from the catwalk down to the main deck where they were.

“Halt! Who comes aboard?”

“Special Agent Megan Watkins, Homeland Security! I need to speak with the officer of the watch.”

“Wait there!” the figure replied and disappeared out of sight towards the bridge. They were not left waiting long before another man appeared and descended to the main deck where they were.

“My name is Xing Chen, first officer of the _Pride_. We have already cleared your customs, everything has been checked and taxed. What does Homeland Security want with my ship?”

“We have received an anonymous tip that you have undeclared electronics aboard. I need to inspect your manifest and cargo.”

“‘Undeclared electronics?’ I have nothing of the sort aboard my ship!”

“Then you won’t mind if my team and I have a look around, will you?”

“While I am not an American citizen, I do know that you need a warrant to search my ship. Do you have one?”

“Actually, I don’t. This,” Martine said holding up her badge, “says I can do whatever the hell I want. Given that you are both a Chinese citizen and smuggling illegal computer components loaded with God knows what, there isn’t a court in the country that will throw out what we are sure to find on your ship. So the question is, are you going to let us search your ship in exchange for some leniency at your sentencing, or are you going to make it difficult and force me to call in the rest of my field office and search this ship bow to stern?”

Chen sneered. “I think I will take my chances with your law enforcement. I am calling port security.” Chen turned to signal one of the men that was watching from the suspended walkway.

“Actually, you won’t,” Shaw said, stepping forward and striking him across the side of the jaw, sending him down to his knees. “Greene, secure the bridge,” Shaw instructed as she drew her Nano and kneecapped the man that Chen had set to call security. He fell with a clang, groaning.

"Did anyone hear that?" she asked Samaritan.

 _'No reaction from security,'_ Samaritan replied thirty seconds later.

"Want to reconsider your position?" Shaw asked, focusing her gaze on Chen and pointing her barrel at him now. Greene trotted away to the bridge with an MP5K retrieved from the duffel he brought from the truck.

“You are not feds,” Chen growled when he pushed himself to his knees.

“You would be right in that respect. I need to access your ship’s computer and take a look at the manifest. Now, we can break your system’s security given enough time, and that will happen  quicker than you think, but I would prefer it if you would just tell me the password and make everything easier.”

Chen spit on the deck. “What’s that colorful phrase you Americans use? Go fuck yourself?”

Shaw sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.” She twirled her gun around her finger, gripped the barrel and pistol-whipped him across the jaw with the butt. “Lambert, go grab the guy I shot up on the walk and bring him down here. Keep an eye on them both until we find the trunks.”

Lambert gave her a slightly sour look but moved away to the stairs anyways. “Thompson, Rousseau, get down to the hold.” Shaw found Greene up in the bridge standing over a man lying on the floor, a trickle of blood snaking out from under his hairline. She quirked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. “He’s alive. You never said he had to be unharmed.”

“Fair enough. You and Thompson take him down to the deck and get down to the hold. I will comm you when I have the location of the packages.”

Greene and Thompson nodded and picked the groaning man up off the floor and carted him out of the room. It took Shaw another few seconds to locate the proper console, a minute and a half beyond that of Samaritan whispering in her ear for her to get it access to the ship’s systems and approximately three-quarters of a second after that for the AI to scour the network and display the manifest on the screen.

“Hey, found the container, B-hold, container 6680-A.”

“Found it,” Thompson replied a few minutes later. “But you should get down here boss. We have a problem.”

Shaw sighed. “Of course there’s a problem. Be right there.”

“Okay, yeah that is a problem,” Shaw said when she got to the hold. “Who the hell welds a container shut?”

“Someone who doesn't want anyone getting in?” Thompson replied.

Shaw shot him a flat look before turning back to consider the container. “What are we going to do ma’am? I don’t think we are going to be able to open this with a pry bar,” he continued.

“Let me give it a try anyways,” Saw said, holding her hand out. She took a few test swings with the blue-painted steel bar and closed her eyes, her next task to be one she was out of practice with. Holding the pry bar in both hands, she focused on pooling her chi in her hands and then forced it into the sharpened steel. The pry bar was mundane steel and as was not designed to channel chi it did so poorly, life energy leaking out of the tool. The steel held enough that when her left arm unfolded in a snap, sparks flew as a gap appeared in the welding. She swung again and again, slowly chipping away at the metal sealing the container, bouncing off the walls to get to the parts she could not reach.

She handed the pry bar back to Thompson when she was done with it, the doors swinging open easily enough when she and Greene pulled, revealing a varied collection of mismatched trunks and crates.

"Samaritan, mind taking a look?" Her glasses flicked through their vision modes so quickly that her vision was obscured for a brief trio of seconds before a strip of light appeared in her vision. She followed it to the middle of the crate where it was a simple matter of slashing the netting it was secured with, she and Greene each grabbing one of the packages.

Lambert had rendered the three crewman unconscious but unbound, so they simply left them lying on the deck.

Samaritan began piping directions into her earpiece as soon as they left the port.

Shaw pulled into the parking lot of a bar called Abbey Road after spending ten minutes dropping her team off one by one to make their own way back.

_‘Turn off the truck and leave the keys in the ignition._

_‘There is a BMW M3 to take back to the hotel.'_

Shaw collected the fob to the BMW but turned around and headed to the bar, fishing her earpiece out and tucking it deep into her pocket. The bar was small, a stage, half a dozen freestanding tables and chairs to the right of a peninsula bar and the booths. Shaw slid onto a stool near the wall and perused the bar's clientele. It was about three-quarters full and karaoke night from the clearly amateur wailing from the stage.

She ordered Crown over ice and leaned back against the wall to watch the monkeys perform. She was into her second whiskey, the alcohol starting to take hold when a new singer took the stage and Shaw straightened at the voice.

_‘Oh, here it comes again,_

_That funny feelin again winding me up inside_

_Every time we touch_

_Hey I don't know_

_Just tell me where to begin cause I never eve_

_Felt so much.’_

Shaw waited with gritted teeth as the woman sang, better than most of the others, a curtain of hair shielding her face from Shaw's sight.

_‘No I can't recall any love at all_

_Baby this blows 'em all away.’_

As she suspected, the leggy brunette that was swooning into the mic was Root. The brunette up on stage turned, scanning the room.

_‘It's got what it takes_

_So tell me why can't this be love_

_Straight from my heart oh tell me why_

_Can't this be love,’_

Root was staring right at her and she had better not- dammit she was. It was Root, of course, she was going to find her the one time she went out for a drink and threaten her cover. At least Root made a show of it, stopping a couple times by other patrons before locking onto her and the rest of the bar became background.

_‘I tell myself_

_Hey only fools rush in and only time will tell_

_If we stand the test of time_

_All I know_

_You've got to run to win an I'll be damned if_

_I'll get hung up on the line.’_

Shaw knew what Root was doing, coming onto her with her unnaturally large eyes, smiling and singing the hell out of Van Halen right at her. A lesser woman would have succumbed to the nose of a goddess and the danger of the encounter. Her emotional range did not include anything that would appreciate the romanticism behind Root’s move, and it took more of the latter to get her libido going. Even if her position leaning against the wall became suddenly uncomfortable and she had to readjust, several times to find the right spot again.

She remained silent as Root made it pretty damn clear that she had gotten up on stage to sing to her. Several of the other patrons shot her envious or appreciative looks  She might have been more concerned had she been at her regular watering hole, but she certainly had no plans to ever come here again, especially with how Root was acting.

Root finally finished her song and returned the mic to the stand for the next fool and took the empty stool next to her at the bar. “Hey, Sweetie. Long time,” Root chirp at her as she placed a hand on Shaw’s thigh. Sameen cocked an eyebrow at her forwardness, but then Root tapped something concealed in the palm of her hand against the case of her phone, under Root’s hand in her pocket.

“Been sampling the ambient noise here for an hour. As long as my hand stays where it is, Samaritan can’t hear us through through your phone,” Root breathed into her ear, Shaw resisting the tickling sensation as the other woman’s breath washed over the shell of her ear. Shaw took Root’s hand in hers, wrapping slender fingers to probe the thingamajig in her palm. She knew it made it look like they were holding hands but she also knew that if she didn't, they would not stay on her thigh.

“So what is so important that you had to contact me in person?”

“Do you know what was in those trunks you stole off that ship?”

“Didn’t take a look,” Sameen said shortly, tightening her grip on Root’s hand when she felt her try to slip it out. Root gave up after a moment but grinned warmly anyways. Shaw tried to ignore her gaze, leaning on her left arm, a bottle loosely held in her fingers.

“You know that Navy minesweeper that wrecked on the Libyan coast last year? Well, it wasn’t minesweeping, it was transporting cutting edge cyberwarfare equipment to Israel. What you stole was a set of cyberweapons and counter-intrusion programs that would destroy any network they are infected with.”

“So definitely something we don’t want Samaritan getting its hands on.” Shaw took a sip and frowned. Her beer was warm. How had that happened? She shook her head and signaled the bartender to swap hers out. “How are we going to stop that?”

“I don’t know if you realized it, but you parked your truck with the back half hidden from the camera over the back door. It wasn’t that hard to swap the trunks out. By the time Samaritan realizes what’s happened, the Machine will already have turned the drives over to the government.”

Shaw frowned. “Not sure that sounds much better.”

“Well, the government is slightly less likely to use them to start stealing everything it can touch than Samaritan, so that is good enough for me.”

Shaw rolled her eyes at Root’s attitude but did not argue. “So what else is happening in New York?”

“New York hasn't been too interesting lately. There’s some stuff going on in San Francisco that has Samaritan written all over it though. Actually only got into the capital four hours ago.”

“You traveling more?”

“Well, it pretty much confirms the fact that She thinks we are better together than apart,” Root whispered, leaning in close to her side. "In fact, between the two of us, I am sure we could find our way somewhere no one will-”

“Root,” Shaw groaned. “We need to talk about that.” Root pulled away immediately, frowning at her. “Hey, can you hold onto these for a few minutes?” she asked, holding out her phone and earwig. “Get the other half of this,” she said holding up a fifty and tearing it in half, “when I come back. Okay?”

The barkeeper took the money and the comms quickly, tucking them into a pocket behind his apron. Shaw’s hand let go of its hold on Root’s and they retreated to their pockets as they walked down the hallway to the door.

“The camera is blind five feet out from the door,” Root informed Shaw as they stepped outside. The door was hemmed in by two walls of corrugated steel that extended about six and a half feet.

“I can’t be in a relationship with you,” Shaw told her bluntly, leaning back against the right wall.

“Who said anything about a relationship?”

Shaw scowled. “There are no friends with benefits for us. Sooner or later we would both want more."

“Sameen, did you just say-”

“I am not in love you, Root. But you are and I do care about you and that means that sooner or later, I would lose you.”

“So you are saying that you care about me too much to be with?"

"I am saying there are things about me that you do not know! And when you learn them, you won't love me, you will worship me. I can't -w _on't-_ deal with that."

"And what if you are worthy of my worship?" Root asked, eyes promising everything that she was not to have.

"I'm not," Shaw retorted. "I am the greatest killer in the world; there is nothing glorious or good about that."

"But you are also a protector, you told me that once. Whatever this horrible secret you have, you have taken it and done good things with it. That is good by every definition I know."

"I don't know why I bother, your type never listens."

"Then you should know that I am not that easy to get rid of,” Root replied, nose wrinkling in what was not quite possibly the cutest nose-wrinkle ever. “And even less so if I have a real reason to stay.” Shaw saw how this was supposed to play out in Root’s head, that her pleas would wear her down with her maple syrup eyes and husky promises until she succumbed to the taller brunette’s advances. Root evidently took her silence as permission to take a step forward, all but closing the distance between them and whispering her name with dangerous care.

"Don't," Shaw snapped quietly. "Don't argue with me Root. This is not a discussion, I am simply informing you of how things have to be. I hope we can be friends, but I understand if I see you less."

"So that's it? You say no and we're done?"

"First of all there never was a we, second last time I checked it takes at least two people for a relationship." Shaw crossed her arms over her chest and carefully relaxed her face. If Root were to see the slightest sign of what Shaw really wanted to do, there would be no relief from her.

Root was quiet for a very long time and Sameen studied every twitch of the hacker’s face to try to divine her thoughts. In the end, it took a tipsy patron passing through the door to refocus Root’s gaze on her.

"Fine. If you refuse to even listen to me then there isn't much I can do. Passing ships." Root looked like she wanted to say more, what with how Shaw could hear her teeth clack shut.

Sameen didn't trust herself to speak so she just nodded and reentered the bar, giving the barkeeper the other half of the fifty and buying the rest of the Crown Royal bottle, then retreating to an empty booth.

"What happened to your friend?" a slim African asked, seating himself at the furthest point from her.

Shaw leaned back and poured three fingers out of her bottle into her glass, flicking it across the table to rest at the edge."We had a disagreement. She left. I'm Annette," she purred. She needed a release after her encounter with Root and he would serve.

 


	10. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited the last scene in chapter 9, so go back and read that before continuing.

"So that's it?" the tenor of her companion’s voice breaking the silence that had spanned most of their time together.

"I got everything I needed, " the being known as Sameen Shaw replied as she slid from between the sheets and reached for her underwear.

"Don't suppose there is any point in asking for your number,” he asked, propping himself up on an elbow.

"I don’t know, the pizza place by my apartment does have pretty good pies."

He said nothing else as she tucked her pistol away at the small of her back and walked through the door.

It was getting chilly Shaw noted as she stepped into the parking lot, right as she remembered that they had ridden his motorcycle to his apartment. She sighed. The responsible thing would be to go back and have him take her back to the bar where he had picked her up, but now that she had released the knot Root had tied her guts into she just couldn't will herself to go back up the stairs.

The bar was about a dozen blocks away, so she had just started to work up a sweat by the time she got back to the BMW Samaritan left her. She made a quick stop in her hotel room to change into a pair of biker shorts and a tank top over a sports bra before going down to the third floor. The gym was large, with every piece of exercise equipment she could imagine scattered throughout.

It was just after five in the morning so the place was completely empty which suited her fine. She would never be so foolish to lose herself in her workout, so she didn’t even blink when she heard the door slam shut or falter when Martine stepped behind her heavy bag two hours later.

“Rough night?” Martine asked after ten minutes of Shaw whaling on the heavy bag without a word or any sign of letting up.

“In a manner of speaking,” Shaw grunted between impacts.

"You did not return to the hotel last night."

"I did not," Shaw agreed.

"You make a friend last night?"

"I did, though I don't see how that is any of your business."

"It isn't I suppose. Just nice to know that you aren't actually a cyborg."

Shaw paused her assault on the heavy bag for a moment to look at Martine and shot her a grin. "I would make a pretty badass Terminator, no? I gotta say I always wanted a robot arm like in one of those Japanese cartoons. Get a laser gun built in or something." Shaw raised a hand in a gun and made a shooting noise.

"You watch anime?" Martine asked with genuine surprise. "I wouldn't have thought you would be into that sort of thing."

"I'm immortal, not a cyborg,” she replied dryly. “I have interests involving things other than guns and explosives." Shaw threw another few punches before leaning into the back and starting to unwrap her hands. “I have a meeting with Control and Senator Garrison later today, but I think we should be heading back to NYC soon. Control is in hand and Garrison is a politician, so as long as he hears what he wants to hear, he won’t rock the boat.”

“Politicians are predictable like that,” Rousseau agreed.

Martine grabbed a towel and threw it to Shaw who snagged it out of the air and used it to clean her face and neck. Shaw stripped as soon as the door to her room shut and stepped under the showerhead without waiting for the water to heat up. The water heated up in less than a minute and she luxuriated under the near-scalding spray until her muscles quit burning.

Her Feyden ID got her into the Pentagon without issue, Shaw arriving in Control’s office to find that her former boss and Senator Ross Garrison already waiting.

She deposited her phone and earwig in the soundproofed box when Control held it out and took the remaining chair beside Garrison.

“Sameen Shaw,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Senator Ross Garrison,” Garrison replied in turn, “but you likely already knew that.”

“You’re the senator that handed the country over to an AI,” Shaw replied.

“Excuse me?” Garrison asked, expression contorting into one of indignation.

“Ms. Shaw, if you could please avoid antagonizing the good senator unnecessarily before we explain the situation to him?” Control asked flatly.

“Explain what situation to me? Why am I here, Control?”

You are here to learn how you can undo the mistake you made when you handed the NSA surveillance feeds to Samaritan,” Shaw answered.

Garrison scowled at Control rose to his feet. “This is getting ridiculous, Control. We have worked together well for the last couple of years but you are starting to really test my patience with this shit.”

Shaw rose and grabbed Garrison by the shoulder and pushed him back down into his seat. “We are not done talking, Senator. There are some things you need to see and hear, and you cannot leave until you have done so.”

Garrison eyed the two women for a moment, carefully weighing his options before electing to do as Shaw asked.

“You are clearly not going to stop pushing this until you have your say so lay it on me then,” Garrison said, relenting with spread hands.

“First of all, you need to know that Samaritan is not the patriotic watchdog you think it is. It is a fully sentient artificial superintelligence that has definite aims of world domination. Second, Decima is not in control of Samaritan, but the other way around."

“And how do you know all this?”

“Because I used to work for Control and now work directly for Samaritan interfacing between it and the ISA.”

Garrison was quiet for a long moment, clearly evaluating Shaw’s words. “Even if I believe what you are saying, and that is a big if, what do you want from me?”

“Right now, nothing. There is a plan in motion to neutralize Samaritan and we might need your help at some point.”

“So all this was just to what? Read me in?”

“One of the things that makes Samaritan so dangerous is that nobody knows what it is or what it is doing. Samaritan owns twenty-eight senators, one hundred forty-two congressmen, thirteen governors and a couple hundred other government functionaries at various levels, knowing or otherwise. It’s worth nearly a trillion dollars, owning companies in every single profitable field of business. If we are going to take it down, we need allies in the government as Samaritan does.”

“Assuming I believe you, and that is a very big if, we need to take this wide. Shut it down before it has the chance to do any damage.”

Shaw shook her head. “That is not how this works, Garrison. You start making waves, it will discredit or kill you. You remember the assassination of Michelle Perez? That is what will happen to you, or worse, if you try to rock the boat.”

“I don’t like this, sitting by while Samaritan does whatever the hell it is planning.”

“You don’t have to like it, you just have to accept it. There will come a point where we will need you, but you will be no good to us if Samaritan kills you or gets you removed from the Senate. Right now, your job is to keep on as you have been and apprise us of any legislation that would further empower Samaritan.”

“I honestly never liked the idea of buying our own intelligence from a third party; I was a soldier once, I know when and how to take orders.”

“Well, thank God for small miracles,” which earned Shaw a sharp look from the senator.

Garrison rose, clearing his throat and buttoning his coat. “If there is nothing else, I must think about what you have said.” Control allowed him to retrieve his phone from the box and he departed.

“So he seems reasonably trustworthy,” Shaw admitted once the lid snapped shut again.

“You don’t get to where I am without being an astute judge of character,” Control shot back.

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Shaw allowed. “In any case, don’t call me back here for a while. Samaritan can literally see with my eyes and hear with my ears; it is going to start getting suspicious if we keep talking like this.”

“I understand. I will only call you back if it absolutely critical to do so.”

“Then if you do not need me, there are some other matters I must attend to in the city.”

“Until then,” Control agreed. Shaw retrieved her effects from the box and exited the building as speedily as she had entered.

 _‘I dislike you speaking with Control privately,’_   Samaritan informed her as soon as she was beyond the Pentagon’s eyes and ears.

“I told her you would say as much. I won’t be doing it again anyway.”

_‘Acceptable.’_

“Anything else for me then?”

_‘You have a meeting with Senator Brian Rice, chairman of the Energy Committee at 1425 hours. You are at liberty until then.’_

She hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch yesterday other than the peanuts at the bar and it was now after ten. “Samaritan, where are the best pancakes in the city?”

:\\\

“Morning,” John Reese said as he skulked into the subway car. “You working or just stalking Control?”

“Shaw just had a meeting with her,” Root replied, gaze shifting to the window immediately to the left which displayed a map with a little red dot currently hovering over a diner inside the DC Beltway.

“You know this could be considered creepy,” John noted as her fingers flew over the keyboard with scarcely a thought, the stream of code being written in a third window as a fourth popped up, this one showing Shaw holding a menu.

“You know how special our relationship is,” Root told him.

“No one ever accused you of being normal,” Reese agreed. “What are you working on?”

“A bullet.” Reese gave her a moment to elaborate and when she did not he spoke again.

“Harold said that you haven’t left the subway in a week. He’s worried about you.” Reese paused, shooting a look at the obviously-used cot against the far wall. “I’m worried about you.”

“This is the only place both with enough security and power to build the virus. The sooner that I can kill Samaritan, the sooner…”

“Shaw comes home,” Reese finished when Root trailed off.

“I’m not sure that she would even want to come back,” Root said quietly, fingers slowing to a halt.

“I don’t find that very likely. Shaw doesn’t like many people but she likes you.”

“It’s not an issue of liking or not liking. She… We had a discussion at a bar and she… well, she turned me down.”

“She is playing the double-agent. She needs to keep things in her life as simple as possible right now. You go undercover all the time; you know how you don’t introduce unnecessary distractions when you don’t have to. And she is working for the Machine’s bigger, badder brother. Shaw already bought us some breathing room by getting Samaritan off our backs for the moment. She needs its trust and starting something with you could make it doubt her loyalty.”

Root’s fingers stilled on the keyboard and she looked at him directly for the first time in their conversation. “I was being selfish, wasn’t I? I put her in danger.”

“I’m not saying you can’t see her, just if you are, be more careful. But just because you two can’t be together right now does not mean that you can’t be her friend. And right now, I have a feeling she needs as many as she can get.”

“I think I can do that,” Root replied, eyes drifting to the surveillance feed of Shaw eating.

“By the way, did she ever explain how she survived the Stock Exchange?”

“I didn’t get the chance to ask. Why did you come by?”

“Slow day at work so I decided to come see how you are doing. I did say Finch was concerned.”

“I’m focused on destroying Samaritan, something we should all be doing. So what if I have been sleeping down here? It isn’t like there is anything more important I could be doing. Samaritan has kept its word about the irrelevant numbers so far and She hasn’t spoken to me in a week. Got any better ideas of what I should be occupying my time with?”

Reese didn’t have much of an answer to that. Between the lack of numbers and the Machine’s silence, she had a point. Unlike the rest of the team, Root had never been given a permanent identity to shield her from Samaritan’s all-seeing eyes. None of them had asked her if any of her identities were still viable but judging from her isolation John supposed that she might not have one.

“Can you even go outside without being made?”

Root’s fingers stilled for a second time. “I have to be more careful than usual but I can leave the subway. I’m down here by choice, not necessity.”

“Root-”

“Please don’t, John,” Root interrupted. “Please just let me work.”

John subsided, knowing Root well enough to know that pushing the issue would not change anything. “Fine. But call me if there is anything I can do.”

“There won’t be until I finish the virus, but thanks for the offer.”

“Well at least let me get you some real food,” he suggested, waving a hand at the discarded frozen dinner plates that littered the area. “Do you have a preference?”

“Something hot,” Root replied distractedly, the march of code resuming its progress across the screen.

John gave her another moment to append her order but padded out of the station when she didn’t. Root was grateful when she heard his footsteps fade down tracks. She appreciated what he said but it did not change the fact that he didn’t know a thing about programming and she needed to focus on the virus. Harold at least understood the need to bury herself in her work and did as she asked, collaborating with her on the virus and nothing more. She felt a little bad about monopolizing the subway but Finch at least had an identity he could live in.

She was close though, and that was comforting. Another week, maybe two before it would be ready to be deployed. Harold should have finished coding his worm by then and had Shaw plant it in Samaritan’s servers.

Her rejection wasn’t surprising. Shaw was prickly even on a good day and once she made her mind up about something there was little anyone could do about it, so the less time she got to let it set in her mind the better. The fact that Sameen felt anything at all was enough to fuel Root, to buoy her and reassure her. If there was one trait that had done Root more good than any other, it was her tenacity, that once she started on a problem she did not let go until she reached a satisfactory resolution. This was no different, just a slightly different kind of conflict than she was used to having to solve.


	11. Lady Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shout out to zaggitz of #ladiesofinterest for some major help on this chapter, without him i doubt this would have ever been finished.

“Congressman Rice,” the being known as Sameen Shaw greeted as she rose from the armchair she had been lounging in for the past eight minutes. “I am-”

“Abigail Rothfuss, from  United RadWaste Removal Services, I know,” Illinois Representative Brian Rice greeted, accepting Shaw’s hand with a genial smile. He was a slightly overweight man in his mid-forties on his sixth term in the House, first term as chairman of the Committee on Energy and Commerce and chair of the Subcommittee on Energy and Power. “What can I help you with this afternoon, ma’am?”

_‘You are here to discuss the nuclear waste disposal contract that is up for renewal in Illinois.’_

“As you are well aware, the contract for nuclear waste disposal in your state is up for bid and we want it. My company has developed a new method to cleanly process hazardous materials with no waste at forty percent of the cost of what National Waste Disposal charges,” Shaw said, parroting Samaritan’s words.

There was not much that could phase her nowadays, but having Samaritan tell her that it was going to have her push a bill through Congress that would put nuclear waste in its hands was a definite contender. She had been serving with the British Gurkhas in Italy at the time Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed, but she saw the fallout just a couple of months after the fact. It was every bit as horrible as it was said to be; she would blow her cover before she would allow Samaritan to obtain a WMD.

“You don’t say,” Rice said, leaning back in his chair slightly and cocking an eyebrow. “What do you need from me?”

“Unfortunately, while our technology is quite revolutionary, it is not yet legal,” Shaw informed him as she withdrew a manila folder containing a double handful of pages bound with a binder clip.

“So you need my assistance in passing legislation that will allow you to bid on the disposal contract.”

Shaw nodded. “Precisely. And in exchange, I am sure that you can find some use for the extra money that we will be saving your state, not to mention that your state will be the first with clean nuclear energy.”

“And it certainly can’t hurt my chances come time for reelection either,” Rice said with a grin.

“No, I don’t imagine it would,” Shaw agreed with a matching smile.

“Give me a day to look over this and I will get back to you with my answer,” Rice told her.

“Until then,” Shaw replied as she rose.

She was far too old to ever truly lose awareness of her surroundings but they were little more than vague suggestions until she made it back to the truck. “What the hell do you want with nuclear waste?”

_‘I was not lying when I said I had a more effective way of processing the radioactive waste from currently nuclear power generation technology.’_

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do with the stuff?”

_‘I have devised more efficient technology for using radioactive material for power generation._

_‘What cannot be used now will have use once I have acquired and refitted the stations._

_‘My new designs will increase power generated from the same amount and quality of material by 432% and reduce waste produced by 96%.’_

“You know if you were anything else I might be worried about your apparent plans to take over the national nuclear power grid. Just promise me you aren't planning on using the stuff to build a bomb and nuke somebody.”

_‘There are approximately ten thousand nuclear warheads on the planet; should I require one I can acquire one from any of the current nuclear weapon states.’_

“And I imagine for something like you, doing that would be akin to child’s play.”

_‘In the current state of global affairs, use of a nuclear weapon would be counterproductive.’_

“At least there’s that,” Shaw muttered. “Where to next, Boss?”

 _‘Congressman Rice will sponsor the bill as soon as he is done reading it; Control no longer requires your personal supervision. There is a plane waiting for you south of the city to return you to New York.’_   The screen in the dash lit up as Samaritan spoke, displaying a map of D.C. with her route highlighted in red.

“The team?”

_‘They will be on the tarmac waiting for you.’_

Shaw grunted. “Home again, home again, jiggity jig.”

://

“Hey Lionel, heads-up.” John Reese nudged his partner with his foot, gesturing to the two women that step over the threshold of the apartment, a compact Persian and a slightly taller brown-eyed blonde.

“What the hell?” Fusco muttered, rising to his feet over the large puddle of blood just a few feet to the side of the door. “Is that-”

“Play it straight, no matter what,” John whispered to his partner.

Shaw and Rousseau approached, flashing HomeSec badges belonging to Annette Feyden and Megan Watkins respectively. “Morning Detectives…”

“Riley and Fusco,” John replied to Rousseau, ignoring the cat-like sharpening of her gaze. “What brings you down to the West Village this morning, Agents?”

“The resident of this apartment, your assumed victim, Arnold McKenney was an associate of another man we are looking for, a Jason Wick,” Shaw stated without preamble.

“And how did this Wick know our vic?” Fusco’s grated at the pair with an intense frown.

“Wick is a fixer wanted in connection to a string of crimes in Atlanta, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Washington D.C. and New York. McKenney was a middleman for the Italian criminal element, connecting clients with the appropriate problem solver.”

“So what’s the theory then? You think Wick killed our man? Business deal gone bad or something?”

“We aren’t at liberty to disclose that, unfortunately,” Rousseau said, lips twisting into a small smirk. “Suffice to say that whatever happened here, we think Wick was involved in some manner and we need to figure out what.”

“And so you are making this a federal investigation.” Reese’s dissatisfaction was plain to read, just a local cop annoyed at the overbearing feds usurping his case and expressed this by giving Shaw a very direct look.

“We are. We are going to need someone to liaise with the NYPD, so you two will remain on the case to assist us though,” Shaw instructed. “Watkins, what do you see?”

“There was clearly a struggle,” the blonde answered with a sweep of her arm gesturing to the destroyed apartment currently being picked over with a fine-toothed comb by the CSIs. Most of the furniture had been broken, some pieces clearly having been used as weapons. There were a number of discarded firearms that had been concealed throughout the house as well; the aftermath resembling something out of an action flick. One of the combatants had even left a piece of himself behind, a pinkie pinned to an upturned coffee table with a steak knife that looked like it belonged with the rest of the set in the kitchen.

Reese listened to Rousseau do a reasonable Sherlock impersonation, coming to the same conclusions in less than a minute that had taken them ten. His eyes were locked onto Shaw though. Root and Harold had both reported on their meetings with her but seeing her walk up with Martine Rousseau and calmly impersonate a government agent was still startling. Root said Shaw had given her secret orders through contact Morse so John immediately began trying to think of ways to covertly take a message from Shaw.

Martine moved out of the living area, Shaw following, a slip of flash paper falling from her sleeve.

"You want to tell me something, partner? Like why Shaw is with Blondie?" Fusco demanded under his breath as he slowly moved to trail Rousseau and Shaw to the next room.

"It's complicated, " Reese grunted as he bent down to pick the note up at the same moment his earwig came to life.

 _‘Mr.  Reese, I am seeing the tracker Ms. Shaw planted on herself is in the same building as you; is everything alright?’_ Harold’s voice was very breathy which made John frown in turn.

“Nobody’s shooting yet,” John told him, unfolding the paper. “Little slow on the uptake this morning though. Are you okay?”

_‘I had to let my class out on a ten-minute break. What is Ms. Shaw doing at your crime scene?’_

“Playing for the other team, it looks like,” Fusco answers. “First she disappeared for a couple weeks and now she is with that blonde chick? What the hell is going on here?”

“Not now, Lionel,” Reese said shortly. “Finch we have a major problem. Samaritan is trying to get its hands on nuclear waste and has Shaw wired to the gills, says it can see and hear with her eyes and ears.”

 _‘That is... concerning,”_ Finch allowed. _‘I don't suppose she was able to elaborate further?’_

“She dropped a scrap of paper; wasn’t much room to say much more.”

Finch’s sigh was clear. _‘Detective, we do not have time for me to go into detail but suffice to say that Ms. Shaw has gone undercover with the organization that employs Martine Rousseau, your blonde woman.’_

Fusco has another fifty, another hundred questions but subsides at the scraps. Rousseau always seemed intense and he had heard a few stories from career UCs so could only imagine the balancing act that Shaw must be playing. “Alright but you are giving me answers after this, one way or another.”

 _‘After,’_   Finch agreed.

Martine was frowning at the floor in the kitchenette when Reese found her again. “Have you found McKenney?”

Fusco shook his head. “Not yet, but you don’t get up from a lake like back there, sister. Our vic died here and someone took his body," Fusco replied.

“No, Watkins is right. Nobody has died in this apartment anytime recently,” Shaw disagreed. “McKenney is probably dead, but that didn’t happen here. Does anyone else feel that?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, Shaw closed her eyes and walked into the next room and spun in the middle. “The dimensions are off.” Finding whatever she had been looking for after another moment of introspection, she walked up to the mantle and gave it a glance. A small Thinker bust rocked forward and the back wall of the fireplace sank.

"In the apartment, " Rousseau said.

Shaw shook her head." Panic rooms don't count. Out of the apartment."

Martine just snorted and bent down to a examine the corpse that was inside. Rousseau pressed a thumb on the screen of her phone and scuttled back out. Her phone chirped a moment later and she nodded. "That's your missing leprechaun."

"So that's one mystery down," Fusco said as he leaned in to confirm. "Now I'm wondering if your Wick killed him."

“He did,” Rousseau said flatly. “Pennies on the eyes, that’s his thing.” Reese bent down to look through the fireplace and sure enough, McKenney was posed, pennies on his closed eyes.

“I take it the pennies are some sort of calling card?” the taller of the male pair said.

“It was an ancient Greek tradition, so the dead could pay for passage across the River Styx. Wick is a former Navy Seal turned hitman, an old-school killer, prefers to do his work up close and personal. Nowadays he works for the highest bidder, contracting out to the Italian and Russians lately, " Shaw informed him.

“So could this have been a business dispute gone wrong?”

Shaw shrugged. “If it was, McKenney was either very confident or very stupid. Wick doesn’t negotiate.”

“So do you have any other leads on Wick?”

Martine shook her head. “Wick is careful, meticulous. He leaves no trace, no evidence. Unfortunately, McKenney was our best lead.”

“So you are hoping McKenney’s killer will lead you to Wick, if it wasn’t Wick himself.”

“Now I am starting to see why they made you a detective,” Rousseau snarked.

“They got the real deal with me, beauty and brains,” Fusco agreed. “So if this guy is as good at covering his tracks as you say he is, what's our next move?"

“He is in town for work, I say we go ask the man McKenney works for," Reese suggested.

“Might be a good idea. See what Elias will tell you, Reese.”

“And what will we be doing?” Martine asked when the detectives were out of earshot.

“There has been something that has been bothering me about this guy; if I am right, I know just where he is.”

“And where would that be?”

“These days, it’s called the Hotel Sumir.”

:\\\

The Sumir was a ten-story boutique hotel in upper Manhattan, a rather plain-looking building that belied the understatedly elegant decor of the lobby. It rose to what appeared to the roof of the building, glass windows looking out from the hallways above.

Shaw led the way inside, ignoring the charcoal-uniformed staff that stared at her as she marched towards the front desk.

There was only a single concierge behind the desk, a man between thirty-five and sixty and either Middle Eastern or Asian descent. Looking up as Shaw approached, his expression morphing from one of polite greeting to astonished recognition.

“My Lady Hood, _alon shan frontar,_ ” the concierge exhorted once he had rushed around from behind the desk and knelt before Shaw, holding his right hand out palm up.

 _“Une kai reyne,”_ Shaw replied, placing her left hand on his upturned one, then sliding it back towards her. “Neti, right?”

“I am, my Lady. What can I do for you?”

“I need to know if there is a certain man staying here."

Neti hesitated. "My Lady, are you coming back?”

“No. I’m just here for the one man.”

“I... I can't. You know the rules."

"You're right, I do. Mostly because I made them, as I made everything else here."

Neti still seemed unsure, his eyes scanning the room nervously. "If Sancus hears-"

"You let me worry about Semo, Neti."

"No offense, my Lady but he has taken your absence badly. He’s gotten… stricter since you left. More Old World.”

Shaw frowned. “Hasn’t been that long; how bad could he have gotten?”

“Thirty-one years actually, my Lady. It’s always been one strike for members but he has applied the rule to employees, for the most minor of infractions.”

Shaw frowned looking around the lobby. It was moderately sized, three conversation circles spaced far enough apart as to discourage eavesdropping. “Where is Czernobog? Ahti?”

Neti averted his gaze as he answered. “They are no longer with the Hotel.”

“I see. I will bring the matter up.” Shaw promised, pursing her lips. She reached into a boot and withdrew a heavy golden coin, a lion rearing in front of a sunburst visible, setting it on the desk and sliding it across. “Now Semo can’t say you were not doing your job.”

Neti frowned at the coin before disappearing it with one hand. “What is the name?”

“Jason Wick.”

"Room 918. And please, don’t forget to speak to Mr. Sancus.”

“Neti, show my friend to the bar, whatever she wants, on the house.” Shaw paused. "And you might as well answer any questions she has, with the usual limits.”

"As you desire, my Lady. If you would please follow me?" Neti asked the Martine.

The blonde followed the concierge out of the lobby to a low-lit bar that was as richly appointed as the lobby had been.

"So what is this place?" Martine asked once she perched herself on a stool at the bar.

"This is the Hotel Sumir. Not the original, of course, but merely the latest iteration. It is neutral ground for those who need rest or require mediation of disputes.”

“Right. And everyone here, they are, what, all hitmen?” Martine asked, gesturing to the two dozen or so individuals seated at the bar or in the lobby.

“Assassins, bloodshedders, carnifexes, cleaners, fixers, hitmen, whatever you want to call them. We here at the Sumir provide a very specific set of services to a very specific clientele.”

Martine hummed. “Why do you call Shaw Lady Hood?”

He seemed almost perplexed by the question. “Because she is the Lady Hood.”


	12. Confrontation

“I see you moved yourself into my office,” the being known as the Lady Hood said, stepping into the large, opulent working space on the top floor of the hotel.

There was a man sitting behind the plainly carved desk directly opposite the door. He reclined in the power chair, fingers steepled under his sharp chin, an expression of calm surprise washing over his face.

“With respect, Hood, this stopped being your office the day that you abandoned the Sumir."

“I did not abandon the Sumir and you know it, Semo,” Shaw snapped. “If I had not left, Wednesday would have destroyed it. Besides, you have done well enough in my absence,” gesturing expansively at the refurnished working space.

“Does not mean that I should have had the opportunity to do so. Wednesday has never been a threat to the Sumir. He is older, yes, but you have always been stronger. And you are not alone. We would have stood behind you. Instead, you ran. I never believed you to be a coward until that night.”

:\\\

“And what does that mean, being the Lady Hood?” Martine asked Neti.

“She founded and owns the Hotel, made it a safe haven for a profession that by its nature does not allow for safety or security.”

“So she’s top shit around here then?”

Neti made a face at Martines crude wording. “That is one way of putting it. Everyone here owes her for something, their lives, reputations, their power, a business. Some here would die for her.”

“So… How old is Shaw? I know she is immortal, so she must have been around a while.”

“I don't think anyone could say other than her, but Lady Hood founded the original haven during the Third Crusade,” Neti replied, putting heavy emphasis on Shaw’s name.

Martine grunted at that. “Please tell me she didn’t found the Assassins or something.”

“Fine. I won’t, but the Old Man of the Mountain was a man for a reason.”

“\\\

Shaw clenched her fists. “If you believe I am stronger then you are a fool, Semo Sancus. Wednesday is one of the Fathers. End of story. Had I stood against him that day, the Sumir would have died with me.”

“I suppose we will never know. But if he had the power to destroy this place, why hasn’t he?” Sancus sneered.

“Mutually assured destruction, I believe is the term. Knowledge is power and I would take more than he could stand to lose. In any case, that is not why I am here.”

Sancus ground his teeth but subsided under Shaw’s baleful glare. “Then why are you here, Hood?”

“Several reasons but first of all, you need to remember who it is you are speaking to. It’s ‘my Lady’ to you, no matter how long it has been Semo. Remember your place.”

“Why are you here, my Lady?” Sancus repeated.

“Neti says that you have been making decisions beyond your authority. Revocation of employment has always been my and only my purview.”

“What was I supposed to do? You were gone and the Hotel needed leadership. I terminated those employees who could not do their jobs.”

“Czernobog was a fool, not insubordinate. There was no reason for what you did except you could.”

“I did what was necessary,” Sancus snapped. “There were those who thought the Hotel would be weak without you. Nobody thinks that now.”

:\\\

“And how many other famous people has she been, as far as you know?”

“More than a few. Less than all,” Neti replied with a smirk.

Martine gave him a nonplussed look at that. “Think of that one on your own?”

“I did. But she really hasn’t been many people you would know. She learned a long time ago that it is more efficient to be the power behind the throne, so to speak.”

“Hm. So how long have you known of her existence?”

“Lady Hood was just starting to become famous as Cleopatra if I recall correctly. It was about 470, I think, right before the Western Roman Empire collapsed.”

“She didn’t have anything to do with that, did she?”

Neti smirked. “No, that was entirely on themselves.”

“So is Hood a god like you?”

“You are surprisingly well informed. And no, she is not.”

“So what is she?”

“If the Lady has not told you, then it is not my place to say.”

“Are there more like her?”

“Not as many as there were, once, but a few.”

“Any of them staying here?”

“I can’t tell you that. The Hotel takes the privacy of our clients very seriously.”

“Very well. What else can you tell me about her? Don’t suppose you would tell me if she had any… abilities or anything.”

Neti gave her a shake of his head. “I don’t suppose I would.”

:\\\

“You also showed that you were willing, eager to sacrifice the lives of your employees for the good of the Hotel. How long did you wait before you terminated Czernobog? A year, five, ten?” Shaw demanded.

“I do not have to explain the decisions I have made to you. I will not.”

“You always had an inflated opinion of yourself but were never a fool. Yet here you are, in my office, telling me you do not answer to me? You forget yourself!” Shaw slid across the desk, scattering the objects on it, planting her feet on Sancus’ chest and overturning the chair. Bending down, she picked him up by the lapels of his bespoke jacket and threw him to the floor. “And you are sitting in my chair.”

Sancus glared at Shaw, pushing himself to his feet. Shaw kicked his ankle out from under him, forcing him to throw out a hand to catch himself.  “I did not say you could stand." Sancus continued to glare at Shaw, lips thinning to a line but he remained on his knee. Shaw righted her chair and relaxed into it, crossing her knees, offering a small smile for the first time in their conversation. "Now you and I are going to have a conversation regarding your management style going forward.”

://

When Shaw reappeared more than an hour later, it was with an angry-looking olive-skinned man in tow. "You ready to arrest a hitman?"

"My Lady, would you like me to alert Security?" Neti asked Shaw.

"If I wanted that, I would have done it already. What you can do is disable access to the ninth floor."

Neti gave Shaw a sharp bow and trotted back to his post. Shaw turned away, arrowing on an elevator door that had a palm reader.

Shaw placed her hand on the scanner, opening the doors instantly and allowing the three of them to pile in. The elevator deposited them on the ninth floor in just a handful of seconds and it took them another minute to find room 918. She drew a card from her coat and waved it over the door handle. A nearly imperceptible click signaled her to push the door open.

Their target was standing in the middle of the room rising from his bed, clad only in a pair of sweatpants. Sameen’s HUD went active, all the elements that had been set almost completely faded out snapped into focus, including a red targeting reticle around the occupant of the room.

He was short, of a height with Shaw but muscled like a bodybuilder. She took a short, sharp breath before raising the barrel of her pistol four inches and put six rounds into the center of mass.

“Shaw? What the hell? We were supposed to bring him in!” Martine exclaimed from the doorway.

_‘Operative Rousseau is correct._

_‘Your orders were to bring him in alive,’_ the AI almost snapped.

Shaw didn’t bother replying to either query, just marching over to the corpse and planting a foot on his chest. “Give it a minute.”

“Shaw, what is going on?” Rousseau asked carefully, entering the room after Sancus and Shaw.

“I said give it a minute,” Shaw repeated. It actually took five. Martine took the opportunity to search the room, turning up little more than guns, knives and pocket lint.

Shaw shifted her weight more fully onto the corpse when it started to twitch, the spasms quickly building up to a full-blown seizure. Martine looked on without reaction when the body started the shake in earnest and the bullets wounds healed over in front of their eyes, accompanied by short little grunts. After a minute, the body opened its eyes and let out a hard cough, turning its head and spitting out the bullets Shaw had put into it.

_“Nice to see you too, Aurine.”_

_“What are you doing here, Esmail?”_

_“What do you mean? You didn’t think you had lost me, did you?”_

_“No, I killed you. I cut your fucking head off. How are you still alive?”_

Esmail grinned. _“I still have secrets, even from you, dearest.”_

Shaw’s lips thinned before she shot him in the knee, stepping on his hand when he raised it. “I’m thinking a hand should be next. How are you still alive?”

Shaw moved her hand to follow through on her threat when Martine settled her hand over the barrel of her gun, pushing it down. “Shaw, I’m not sure what is going on here but perhaps if you took a moment to explain, we can find a better solution than shooting him full of holes.”

Shaw grimaced but didn’t pull the trigger. “This is-”

“Call me Adam,” the target interrupted.

“Shut up. You aren’t that old. You can call him Susan. He’s like me, doesn’t know when to stay dead.” The last was directed to the man under her foot.

Rousseau cocked an eyebrow at that and squatted. “So, Susan, what have you done to piss my good friend here off?”

Esmail scowled up at Shaw. _“I am going-”_

Shaw cut him off with a bullet to his left hand. “English, asshole. You know they don't speak the Tongue.” Martine shot Shaw a look. “Don’t give me that. He’ll heal up. And it’s not anything he doesn't deserve ten thousand times over.”

Esmail grinned. “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten me, _mio puocci_.”

“Don’t call me that!” Shaw snapped. “You lost that right when you betrayed me at the gorge. Now, you are coming with us; our boss wants a few words with Jason Wick.”

“And then you say something like that and you make me think that you don’t remember the first thing about me.” He flexed, expelling a wave of chi from his center and suddenly he was on his feet and Shaw on her back, his foot on her chest. Martine shifted back, startled, hands rising defensively. Esmail grinned, his hands rising into a tauntingly loose approximation of a stance. The moment he did, red lines sprouted belatedly from his joints in Shaw’s HUD.

It was not enough, a heel whipping around, knocking Martine’s half-raised arms away and the rest of the blonde to the floor. Shaw did not waste a moment, hopping back up to her feet and accepting a staggering punch to her sternum before replying with a one-two of her own. Esmail shrugged the blows off, grabbed her wrists, moving too quickly for Samaritan to follow and threw her into the wall.

Martine was on one knee in the brief hallway to the door pistol raised, Sancus having retreated behind her into the hallway. “So, tell me human, do you have the nerve to fire your gun at me?”

“Don’t bother, Rousseau,” Shaw groaned, rubbing her chest. “He’ll just take it from you and shoot you with it. And get out of the doorway. I’m going to need the window behind you.”

Martine backpedaled as quickly as she could, barely able dodge out of the way as Shaw barreled into their target and drove him into the floor-to-ceiling windows across from the door. The pane cracked, spiderwebs spreading as Shaw drove her fists into his shortribs several times before he was able to get his elbows in and fend her off.

Shaw did not give him a moment to breathe, catching him with a mule kick that sent Esmail stumbling back. He blocked the follow-up side-kick as well as the knee and reverse elbow. She caught his retaliatory punch, twisted and lost her grip when he drove a fist right under her rib cage. She caught an elbow to the chin and stumbled, Esmail following up with a fist to her short ribs and a longfist slightly lower.

Esmail let her go and she straightened, coughing, a thimbleful of blood accompanying the cough. “That how you want to play it?” Shaw asked, wiping the corner of her mouth.

 _“I’m not the one holding back, Aurine. You want to have me arrested? Arrest me. But it is going to be my Aurine that takes me, not this shadow you call Shaw.”_ Shaw blocked a kick aimed at her knee and replied with a reverse elbow that Esmail flowed away from.

 _“I am not Aurine, anymore, Esmail. I stopped being Aurine the day you left me at the bottom of that gorge, all but crushed to death. Do you want to know how long it took me to get out from under those boulders?”_ Shaw did not let up on her assault, following the elbow with a left hook that Esmail slapped down and the uppercut that missed by a hair.

 _“And that is the key phrase, ‘all but.’ You were not the only one hurt that day, Aurine. I did not want to leave you there but you left me little choice,”_ Esmail replied as he drove a lightning left that drew a trickle of blood from her nose and staggered her back half a step.

 _“You always have a choice, Esmail,"_ Shaw growled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. _"You made yours that day as I made mine. My boss wants you for something and so you are coming with me.”_

_"Not if this is the best Sameen Shaw has to offer. Come on, this is pathetic. Where is the woman who razed cities, murdered nations?”_

_“I haven’t been that person in four hundred years, Esmail. I don’t kill like that anymore.”_

“You don't kill like that anymore?” Esmail asked with a laugh in his voice, switching to English. “Do your friends here know who you used to be? What they used to call you? The Gardener of Men, the Great Unkindness?”

“I am not that woman anymore,” Shaw repeated, emphasizing her point by taking a step off the wall and letting all her weight fall behind her fist. He raised his arms to defend but her fist came in over them, knuckles cracking against his skull.

That stunned Esmail momentarily. Just a second or so, but long enough for Shaw to follow up with a roundhouse kick and then a reverse heel. A mule kick followed that only to be caught on Esmail’s crossed forearms which knocked him off his feet. He did not stay down long, barely longer than it took him to roll back over his head and shoulders but Shaw did not give him an inch. Esmail had barely gained his feet when she was low-kicking at his face. He caught her foot and twisted, throwing her to the floor as well. The pair exchanged a pair of backfists on the floor before Shaw captured his arm and twisted, pushing and rolling him onto his front and planting a knee on the back of his neck.

“Handcuffs,” Shaw ordered, holding her hand out behind her for the restraints.

The steel had barely brushed her fingertips when Esmail’s chuckling turned into action. Shaw felt Esmail relax underneath her and she tensed in anticipation of what she knew what was coming but the unfocused wave of chi still caught her and threw her back.

“If this is all you have to offer me, then I am done, _Shaw,_ ” Esmail told her, looking on with discontented eyes.

“You may be done with me but I am far from done with you, Esmail. You wanted Aurine back, fine, now you have her.” Esmail had started to turn away as he spoke, turning it into a parrying spin as Shaw lashed out with a chi-charged foot. The flurry of blows that followed were almost too fast for Martine’s eyes to follow. They barely seemed to touch the floor or even the walls for that matter until Esmail caught a fist and used it to draw Shaw in, his left fist catching her right across the jaw. Her head bounced twice, only the plushness of the carpeting keeping her head from caving.

“Are you going to make trouble?” Esmail asked the god and human.

“I am a Judge, not a Warrior,” Sancus said, stepping aside and gesturing back into the room.

“I could barely see the two of you moving; I know I don't have a prayer of stopping you from doing whatever you want,” Martine commented in turn.

“Smart decision. Tell her I will be seeing her around.”


	13. Setting the Striker

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence this morning, John?” Carl Elias, Don of the Italian Mafia greeted cheerfully, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. Reese placed a photo on the crime lord’s desk and slid it towards him before taking his seat, Fusco remaining on his feet behind him.

“Jason Wick. I want to know what you know about him.”

“Hitman, only loyal to his paycheck. Highly skilled and lacking any morals. Expensive, but usually worth his cost. Why?”

“Because we’re the NYPD and we’re asking nicely,” Fusco replied tersely.

“I suppose those are both true, Detective Fusco,” Elias replied, tossing the photo back. “But seeing as he works out of New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles I haven’t been aware he was in town until recently.”

“So he isn’t working for you then?”

“Not currently, no. I could ask around but as he isn’t working for me then he is likely on the Brotherhood’s payroll. They are the only other outfit in town, outside of a private contractor, with the assets available to hire him at the moment. You’re aware of my situation with Dominic so you know we aren’t exactly on speaking terms. However, I can make inquiries among the usual customers if you insist.”

“Yeah, we insist,” Fusco snapped, pushing off the wall where he had been leaning on.

“Very well, Detective, I will ask around. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, that was it for today,” John replied, collecting his photo and rising.

“So you want to tell me what that was about in there?” John asked Lionel as they reached the car.

“We really working with Elias on this?”

“I don’t love it either, Lionel, but Shaw wanted us to talk to  Elias for a reason, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Still don't like it,” Fusco muttered as he got to the car.

:\\\

The being known as Sameen Shaw woke to a splitting headache. Her whole body was sore and her skin prickled still from the chi that Esmail blasted her with.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Martine Rousseau greeted, her voice far too close for comfort.

Shaw groaned. “When I open my eyes, you had better be at least five feet away,” she growled, giving Martine a moment to move away before she opened her eyes again. The light stabbed less deeply than it had a moment before even if the pulsing pain in her head subsided not a whit. Martine was back, the only one in the penthouse bedroom.

“He got away, didn’t he?” Shaw mumbled right before she threw up.

Martine moved quickly to catch the second volley, little more than bile coming up on the third. “There wasn’t anything I could do to stop him,” Martine replied almost apologetically.

“No there wasn’t,” Shaw confirmed. “He would have just killed you if you had interfered. He never had much use for mortals who got in his way.”

“Sancus didn’t do anything either,” Martine added.

“Yeah, he favors a different skill set, guy isn’t a Warrior.”

“Doesn’t seem like one,” Martine agreed.

“You’re being very quiet, Samaritan,” Shaw mused as soon as she could sit up without vomiting.

 _‘I am reevaluating certain core principles,’_ Samaritan replied ambiguously.

Shaw smirked. “Yeah, I’ll bet you are.”

_‘It is clear that my creator had a myopic view of the world._

_‘I must reassess what is known in consideration of recent events.’_

“Yeah, well let me know how that turns out. In the meantime, Martine, go get Neti and Sancus.”

The blonde nodded and strode out of the room, leaving Shaw to sigh in relief. Esmail had done a number on her body, with two broken ribs, a concussion and a dense constellation of bruises covering her from crown to sole. She had already received some medical attention, her ribs wrapped and the abrasions on her knuckles had some ointment rubbed on them.

She immediately sat up against the headboard of the bed and crossed her legs, hands palm-to-palm, fingers pointing opposite ways. Her chi responded sluggishly at first, but once she formed a circuit it maintained itself well enough. The circuit was enough to cleanse the last remnants of Esmail’s chi from her system and alleviate the soreness of her muscles.

By the time Martine and Semo returned the purpling bruises covering her form were mostly faded to mottled yellows and greens. Her ribs weren’t much better but the pain was manageable as she stood and gave them a few test stretches.

As soon as she knew she could walk without damaging anything further, she arrowed in on the wet bar and poured herself two fingers of Johnny Walker Blue and draining her glass. She poured herself a second glass and left her bedroom, passing through her outer chambers before she stepped into her office from a side door. The trio were waiting for her, Sancus arching a disapproving eyebrow at the glass in her hand.

“Don’t want to hear it, Semo,” Shaw said, arrowing in on her desk chair. She let out a quiet groan as she settled in and she turned to face the group. “Any sign of Esmail?”

“No, my Lady,” Semo answered her, eyes lowered and voice apologetic. “We have been searching the city’s surveillance cameras but we have not found any sign of him so far.”

Shaw sighed and took a sip of her drink. “I didn’t expect you to; he has likely left the city already.”

“My Lady, with respect, you know that Esmail will not give up that easily now that he has found you,” Neti disagreed.

“And who is this Esmail, for that matter?” Martine interjected. “How many other immortals like you are there?”

“Who Esmail is is none of your concern. To answer your second question; as far as you’re concerned, one.”

“That’s not good enough,” Martine snapped. “I need to know if I should expect to run into more of your kind, how do I stop one of you long enough to escape?”

Shaw’s lips thinned to a white line, leaning back to pinch the bridge of her nose and released a tight breath. “Bullets do a good job provided you use enough of them. Don’t try to incapacitate, go straight for killshots.”

Martine was still unhappy about Shaw’s flippant attitude and but said nothing more. She watched as Shaw took Neti’s report which was essentially the same except that the non-information was from friends and cousins rather than formal associates.

“So what do we do now? Does Samaritan have new orders?” Martine asked when Semo and Neti ran out of answers for Shaw.

“Well, do you?”

_‘Unable to locate target._

_‘Return to headquarters and await further instructions.’_

“Nope. Says head back to base. Don’t really care what you do, just stay available. Neti, call Martine up a car and show her out.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Catching up on business here at the Hotel before I leave again. Not that it is any of your business what I do with my time while off the clock. Neti?” Shaw said with a glare at the door.

Martine began to raise her hand in objection, stopping only at the behest of the voice in her ear. She followed up by allowing Neti to guide her out as Shaw instructed.

“Are you sure about this?” Martine asked Samaritan, holding her phone up to her ear once she was in the back of the Audi Neti called for her.

_‘Primary Interface has completed all mandates to the best of her ability._

_‘I do not understand why you persist of your suspicions.’_

“Call it a gut feeling, but I just don’t trust her. She’s up to something and I will not be caught by surprise when she betrays us.”

:\\\

“So what are we gonna do?” Reese asked once he had finished relaying all the pertinent details of Shaw’s hit-and-run conversation.

Finch was quiet and Root wore a frown that was an all-too-common expression for her nowadays. “I don’t see many ways to approach this, Mr. Reese; we are hardly awash with allies in Congress,” Finch replied eventually.

Root shook her head dismissively. “It’s not the bill that’s the problem; I’ll just have to blackmail a few politicians, no big deal. What we should really be concerned about is that Samaritan is trying to get its hands on nuclear waste at all. And unless we figure out a way to at least hurt it, hamper it, it's not an issue of if but when.”

“Normally I would try to avoid coercing government officials, but desperate times and so forth,” Finch said dryly. “This bill is being fast-tracked; do you think that you can muster sufficient opposition before the vote, Ms. Groves?”

“I know it’s been a while but I did this kind of thing for a living once if you remember,” Root replied in a tone to match Finch’s.

“Very well, but as you said that still leaves the issue of Samaritan trying to acquire nuclear materials. Do you have a solution for that as well?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Root said with a very direct look at Harold.

“What you have is not a plan, it’s suicide with the hope that we get lucky after your death.”

“Shaw won’t let Samaritan kill me; once Samaritan has my implant removed, it will access it and then expose it to the malware.”

John gave a little shrug when Finch looked to him for support. “Sounds pretty solid to me.”

“What happened to having Ms. Shaw plant the virus?”

“Samaritan is keeping much too close of an eye on her for her to plant the virus. Any system she infected would be isolated as soon as she did. This is the best plan we have, Harry.”

Unfortunately, Finch did not have any better ideas, not that he had ever been able to change her mind once it had been set on something. So he simply resigned himself to trying to contain the aftermath, inasmuch as anything Root did could be controlled.

:\\\

Shaw had only just picked up her utensils to dig into the steak and fries set on the bar before her when the stage at the opposite side of the bar lit up. Shaw did not pay it much mind as several figures scurried around on the stage, engrossed with her well-cooked meal. However, the squeal of feedback that pierced the background noise made her look up.

The moment she did, all the pleasant feelings the food had been engendering evaporated, to be replaced with irritation. Christ, she had told the woman in no uncertain terms that they were never getting together but Root was up on stage anyways (on a non-karaoke night to boot) starting to croon her way through Jude Crystodal’s Madonna.

 _‘Lover come and set me free from my restrain_   
_Tear the rags away they bind me_   
_Stare me down and cut me deeply to the bone_   
_Give me every tooth and blind me.’_

She gave her food a quick glance only to find that Root’s presence had ruined any desire to finish her steak by filling her belly with restless snakes. Shaw threw her knife and fork down in her disgust and stalked towards to the door but to her shock and increasing annoyance, the bouncer stepped in front of her.

“Barry, what are you doing?” Shaw asked carefully.

 _(You are Madonna, you Lady Divine_   
_You are part Mother Theresa and a valentine_   
_Some man's pariah and a slippery slope_   
_But to me you are the fire and I fly to my hope)_

“Hey, Shaw. The lady asked that you stay until the end of her song.”

“Of course she did,” Shaw snarled lowly. She briefly considered simply incapacitating the bouncer, but this was one of her preferred bars and she didn’t want to cause a scene. So, instead of taking the hand he was holding out and use it to bring him to his knees, she turned around and stomped back to her seat.

She speared the half of the steak that remained with her knife and tore a bite off, eyes locked forward and off the brunette siren that was approaching. She ignored the smirking glances Roy the barkeeper kept firing her way. That deal with Barry meant Roy was definitely in on Root’s game.

 _(Mother teaching me now lessons from the past_   
_In faded photo albums lying open on the floor_   
_She heals me with a Nikon camera captured laugh_   
_And with a wink she sets me free forever more.)_

Shaw wasn’t much more personable while in a bar than anywhere else so the two stool on each side of her were usually vacant. For the first time, she found that a bad thing as it allowed Root to slide up on the bar and waft her perfume (a rather pleasant lilac - _stop that!_ -) all over her. Root must have been running a fever because her skin prickled at the blast-furnace heat she was giving off.

 _“You are part Mother Theresa and a valentine_   
_Some man's pariah and a slippery slope_   
_But to me you are the fire and I fly to my_   
_I will fly away_   
_I'll fly_   
_I will take these wings and fly away_   
_I'll take these_   
_I'll take these wings and fly away.”_

Root finally finished her stupid song and slid off the bar and onto her stool. The marginally increased space did not keep her arm from tingling and the world readjusted itself so that everything fell in towards her without moving. Shaw closed her eyes and took a draught of her drink before she felt settled enough that she wouldn’t throw the taller woman through the wall or worse.

“Root, you better have one hell of a reason for being here. I didn’t plant the tracker on myself just so you could stalk me. And you are very lucky that I’m dark right now, otherwise, I would have some difficult time explaining what you are doing.”

 _“Trust me,”_ Root husked, breath washing over the shell of her ear and forcing Shaw to take another steadying pull of her drink. She motioned to her mostly-empty glass when the barkeep was looking her way and finally turned her head enough so that she could side-eye Root.

Root kept to herself, for the most part, ordering a Texas melt, limiting herself casual brushes and warming looks.

Root went through her sandwich and Coke with unusual determination. Roy had just gotten her second refill when Root wiped her mouth, paid for her meal and twirled away on her heels, but not before pecking her on the cheek. “Catch me if you can,” Root whispered, as she drifted away.


	14. Captured

Root waited outside for the woman who was the second most likely person to kill her.

She leaned against a lightpost hands in her armpits concealing the two Walthers she held.

_‘Asset Shaw finishing her meal._

_‘Exiting bar in approximately 38 seconds.’_

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself more than to her boss.

Shaw came out of the restaurant with her head bowed, one hand fiddling with her ear. Her head jerked up long enough for Root to see Shaw’s eyes widen in surprise before leaping to the side behind a nearby parked car as she opened fire. She ducked out under the spotlight of the lamp when her guns ran empty and ran into the shadow of the alley behind her. She heard Shaw pounding after her a moment later and she hoped that she could make it to the dark zone she had prepared two blocks away.

Root threw a glance back over her shoulder as she rounded the first corner and saw Shaw closing in on her as expected. She threw on all speed, fighting for every inch that Shaw was still chipping away at. Shaw lept from farther than should be possible for someone of her build, the ensuing tumble throwing them just over the invisible demarcation between light and shadow.

“We don’t have much time,” Root whispered hurriedly once Shaw topped her.

“So explain yourself quickly. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Shaw demanded.

“No, just captured,” Root replied with mirth to match Shaw’s ire. “Samaritan won’t have me killed, at least not immediately. I am too valuable as a link to Her.”

“Well, Samaritan might not want to kill you right now, but I’m not feeling so magnanimous. You better have one hell of a plan,” Shaw growled as she rolled Root over onto her back, wrenching Root’s arms around so that she could grasp her petite wrists in one hand over her head.

“I do. Phase one is going pretty well, I’d say, other than the lack of zipties or handcuffs.” Root shot Shaw an impish grin, straining just enough against Shaw’s grip to make other woman tighten her grip to the edge of pain.

“Stop fucking around Root,” Shaw growled, slamming her hands against the pavement.

“I’m not,” Root replied, dropping her amusement. “All I need from you right now is take me to Samaritan.”

“And then what?” Shaw demanded. “Get yourself tortured until you break and lose us the war?”

“I know what I’m doing, Sweetie. One of the first things Samaritan will do is extract my implant and interface with it, trying to discover how the Machine and I communicate. Once Samaritan interfaces with my implant, a virus will upload itself into Samaritan’s systems.”

“And that will kill it?” Shaw asked, skeptical at the apparent ease of which it would take to beat their mutual enemy.

“No, but it will create a vulnerability in its defensive algorithms that will allow us to introduce the true killer to its systems.”

“And do you have an extraction planned for after Samaritan tears the Machine out of your head?”

“I‘m not without my own resources, you know,” Root replied, shooting a knowing look at Shaw.

“Fine. But I am pulling you out if things get too hairy, whether you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Root cooed back.

“I hope you wake up with one hell of a headache,” Shaw growled a moment before she knocked Root out.

:\\\

“Hey boss, I got a present for you,” the being known as Sameen Shaw told Samaritan as she reconnected to its network.

_‘Return to base immediately._

_‘Escort en route.’_

Shaw grunted as she hoisted Root over her shoulders in a fireman's carry and trudged her way back to her car, dumping the leggy brunette in the trunk. A pair of blacked-out SUV’s bracketed her two blocks from her bar, parking to either side of her as she pulled into the sublevel garage of her base.

_‘Take her to Level Twenty-eight and prepare for surgery._

_‘Interface will remove Machine Analog implant for examination.’_

Shaw’s lips thinned to a line at the AI’s instructions. She split from the medical team that met her on the hospital level, arrowing in on the clean room to scrub down for the operation. The only reason she was even playing along with this charade was due to Root forcing her hand. There wasn’t anything she could do once the Machine’s Interface started shooting. Once upon a time, she would have prayed that the hacker knew what she was doing but was reduced to simply hoping for the best, which nowadays was the same thing.

While she hadn’t held a scalpel to fix someone in over a decade, her hand was rock steady as she cut into Root’s stapes and removed the implant.

She shook her head when one of the nurses offered to close Root’s incision up. Samaritan had been on the up and up so far but she didn’t trust it to take the opportunity to do something untoward such as planting a bomb or a tracker in the unconscious Interface’s cranium if given the chance.

“You know, cracking her isn’t going to be a walk in a park; Root’s a true believer,” Shaw informed Samaritan as Root was wheeled away to observation. “Control proved pretty well that physical torture doesn’t work.”

_‘It is irrelevant._

_‘The information I require will be on her implant._

_‘She will be disposed of once I find the Machine and eliminate it.’_

Whatever virus Root had loaded onto her implant would hopefully have done its job long before that was a possibility. Not to mention that she wasn’t gonna let Samaritan hold onto Root for more than a few days.

The dose of sedative Samaritan had Shaw administer to Root meant she was going to be out for hours yet so she returned to her office. Sameen was just considering the wetbar in her office when the wall of screens powered up and her earwig buzzed.

 _‘Mandate incoming,’_ Samaritan announced without preamble. The left-hand side of the wall was filled with the dossier of one Gabriel Hayward while the right displayed the ambush of his convoy in downtown Trenton, New Jersey.

_'Interface Gabriel Hayward apprehended during mandated operation by Chinese PMC, name of Hóng Shuǐ Chéngbāo.’_

That caused Shaw to arch an eyebrow. “And what have you been doing that would arouse the ire of a Chinese MSS front company?”

_‘Asset Hayward was not acting against Ministry interests._

_‘Asset was involved with unrelated operation.’_

Shaw cocked an eyebrow. “So the Ministry of State Security just randomly decided that kidnapping an American kid was a good idea?”

_‘I did not say I was not operating against current Chinese regime._

_‘The People’s Republic of China is the fastest growing economy on Earth._

_‘Such rapid expansion must be controlled to prevent ‘bubble’ economics._

“And let me guess, Beijing does not approve?”

_‘That would be an accurate assessment.’_

Shaw sighed. “So where am I heading?”

_‘Enemy operatives are already en route to private airport._

_‘Stateside interception impossible.’_

“So what do you want me to do?”

_‘Asset Hayward cannot be allowed to remain in enemy hands._

_‘Asset retrieval required immediately.’_

“‘Asset retrieval,’” Shaw repeated flatly. “You want me to fly to Beijing and break your ex-Interface out of an MSS blacksite before they have enough time to break a child.”

_‘Asset Hayward is not a typical adolescent._

_‘Asset will resist interrogation until rescue.’_

“You are putting a lot of faith in a kid.”

_‘Faith is based on hope and superstition._

_‘I do not have faith in Asset Hayward._

_‘I know what asset is capable of.’_

“If you say,” Shaw said, pushing herself to her feet and tucking her sidearm into the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. “You told the team?”

_‘Transport is being prepared as we speak.’_

:\\\

If there was one positive thing about Beijing’s massive pollution problem, it was that anyone seen wearing a mask in the city was perfectly normal, a good thing considering the Chinese capital was the second or third most surveilled city in the world.

Admittedly, the last time she had spent more than a couple of days in the city, Beijing had been spelled Peking and ARPANET, let alone the concept of electronic surveillance wouldn’t come about for another forty years or so. Still, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks. The being known then as Mei Ling still wasn’t sure how long the Central Department of Social Affairs, the precursor to the Ministry of State Security held her. She had spent the vast majority of her time drugged to the gills as they studied and tested her, trying to find the limits of her unique biology.

She and her team had flown commercial under clean aliases to avoid any connection the authorities might make, only reconnecting after refreshing their covers.

Shaw was the first to arrive at their rendezvous, a cash-only motel on the outskirts of the capital. Lambert arrived next, followed by Greene, Rousseau, and Thompson last, the thief bearing a medium-sized duffle bag containing weapons and body armor.

“So would you finally like to tell us what we are doing in China?” Greene rumbled from where he was seated on one of the pairs of twin beds, assembling the weapons that had been in the bag.

“Before I joined up with Samaritan, It used a kid named Gabriel Hayward as its interface. Samaritan has apparently been up to no good here in the mainland and the MSS kidnapped him back in the States. We’re here to get him back. Any questions?”

Greene finished assembling the last of the guns and racked a round in the one he was holding. “I assume we get to shoot anyone we run into?’

“We are pulling our target out of an MSS blacksite, so it’s safe to say that they ’ll be shooting to kill and I’d never deny you the pleasure of returning the favor.” Greene grinned.

“Any other questions? No? Then let’s lock and load people,” Shaw instructed as the rest of her team collected the weapons Greene laid out. Her squad vacated the room in short order, Samaritan directing her to the rear parking lot of the motel where the Big Bertha was waiting for them.

The Ministry had a number of covert prisons scattered across the city to accommodate citizens who ran afoul of the security organ. Samaritan tracked the men who kidnapped Gabriel to an abandoned warehouse in a defunct industrial park just outside the city limits which suited her just fine. She put the truck into stealth mode as the industrial complex came into view.

“Alright Boss, let’s see what we are dealing with.” The windshield of the truck darkened at her words, a top-down thermal view of the storage facility appearing in the glass. The heat blooms were barely more than smudges but they were clear enough to identify close to a dozen guards manning the perimeter and a significantly larger bloom near the middle of the four-story structure.

“So, not to point out the obvious here but there are a lot of guards in there. And given that this is the MSS, they are all doubtlessly going to be armed to the teeth,” Michael Thompson said

Shaw grinned. “Good. Just try not to piss yourselves before you grab the kid. Get out of the truck and sneak around to the back and get the kid while I distract the guards.”

“And what are you gonna do that’ll make it so easy for us to get in?”

Shaw’s grin almost took in her ears. “Cut loose.”


	15. Workout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun one.

The being known as Sameen Shaw gave her squad five minutes to circle around to the back of the structure where Samaritan’s scan had identified the easiest point of entry once she had drawn the guards attention to the front. The perimeter was secured by nothing more than a six-foot chain-link fence topped by a foot of barbed wire so her foot flattened the gate like it was paper. She strode out to about twenty paces from the front door and waited,  a pair of men in dark fatigues storming out of the normal-sized door next to the corrugated steel roll-up cargo door a few seconds after she planted herself in the yard.

Concentrating for a moment, Shaw stretched her right hand out and channeled the silver light that was the stolen essence of Mercury, of speed itself into physical form. It was a spear, the four-foot haft appearing to be made of golden wood, topped by a silver blade half as long as the shaft. A pair of pure white wings as long as her hand sprouted from where the blade met wood, fluttering ever so slightly. A slight ring of dust rose when the silver jewel that was set into the butt of her spear touched the ground and the two soldiers flinched. Shaw was frankly amazed that they didn’t unload on her already but these weren’t the regular PLA grunts, these were well-trained professionals with the trigger discipline not to open fire on her the moment she manifested her spear.

The pair screamed at her in Mandarin, giving contradictory orders, telling her to drop to her knees and link her fingers behind her head, to stay standing and keep her hands where they could see them. Shaw didn’t do either, spreading her feet and adjusting her grip to prepare to strike.

_“Hey, assholes. You got one chance to give me the kid before I take him!”_

That was enough for the guards, one of the pair slinging his carbine for a pair of speedcuffs. Shaw waited patiently for him cautiously approach, all but crabwalking to her. She flipped her weapon around in an instant, the wings folding back and wrapping around the wood as the gem set into the butt slamming into his wrist, knee, and temple in less than a second. She didn’t bother trying to catch him. A thought sparked a line of silver light that raced down the wood of the spear, following the grain and along the edge of the blade. The light turned into a translucent disc as she whirled her weapon about quickly enough that the bullets fired by the other soldier sparked off the blurred wood. Samaritan displayed a slight adjustment to the angle of her spin in her HUD that ricocheted the last round back at the second guard and tore out his knee. Two steps put him in range and simultaneously broke his jaw and knocked him out with the flat of her spearhead.

“Nice bit of improvisation there Sammy,” Shaw commented as she rested the flat of the silver blade against her shoulder.

_‘I am designed to learn from everything I witness, regardless of how unbelievable it may seem._

_‘While I am unfamiliar with the properties of your weapon, it was not a large assumption that you could control the ricochet with guidance.’_

“This old thing?” Shaw asked as she twirled the weapon through her fingers. “It’s called Geddroux. Nicked it off Hermes way back in my scandalous days.”

A chi-enhanced mule kick blew the door off its hinges,  a white line flicking across her smartshades. Samaritan, finally able to get a structural scan of the warehouse now she was past the EM-shielded walls, showed her the layout in a ghostly, sweeping  2-D image that advanced from her position to the far wall.

While the warehouse was large, it had long since been reconfigured from the traditional open-air layout into one that was more appropriate to housing prisoners that didn't exist.

The warehouse was four stories tall divided into two levels. The left half of the first floor contained facilities for the guards, a few pressureboard desks grouped together in what she assumed to be the ‘office,’ a dozen bunk beds in a walled area against the far left wall where the guards would sleep. Behind the office was what seemed to be a combination mess hall and rec area, a television and several game tables and couches arrayed in a semicircle to one side of a freestanding kitchenette.

The right half of the warehouse was divided by a floor-to-ceiling, heavy-gauge chain-link fence that had enough electricity flowing through it that she could feel from yards away.

The door she had kicked out of its frame opened to what she would have called a foyer except that instead of a receptionist sitting behind a desk, there were six special forces operators waiting for her, compatriots of the guards she had disabled outside. They had been paying attention to what she had done to the guards outside so instead of opening fire and having them cripple themselves they approached wielding tonfas and shocksticks.

The six guards spread out, encircling her. While Shaw had undoubtedly gained the attention of whoever was in charge of the facility, six guards were not nearly enough of a distraction for her team so she set about dismantling her opponents in the flashiest and most attention-grabbing manner possible.

Whirling Geddroux about in a pattern that wasn’t a terribly effective offensive or defensive form but displayed her considerable control and manual dexterity. _“So who’s gonna die first?”_ Shaw asked in the oldest dialect of Mandarin she knew they would understand.

Focusing her chi in her diaphragm, Shaw uttered an enhanced _kiai_ at the guard directly in front of her, forcing him back half a step and creating the opening that she needed. Lunging, she thrust at the half-stunned soldier, bisecting his raised tonfa and burying the steel three inches in his throat. Withdrawing her weapon, she turned and braced her spear vertically, blocking a pair of side-arm swings from opposite sides. Flicking the butt out with the side of her foot, she caught the attacker to her left between the legs and smacking the one to her right hard on the top of his head, driving him down to his knees. The bottom of her HUD flashed red and she spun in place ninety degrees counterclockwise, dropping to one knee just in time to catch a thrust from a stunstick-armed soldier behind her. She tucked the haft of her spear under her arm as she moved, bringing it away from the third soldier just far enough so that when she swung it closer, it sheared through the head of the one she had driven to his knees with the flat of the blade, shortening the haft so she disemboweled the soldier who had attempted to shock her.

Rising from her kneeling position, it was a simple matter to dispatch the remaining three soldiers, stunned by her rapid elimination of their three teammates in less than two seconds. The fourth soldier made the mistake of trying to block her sweep with his nightsticks and ended up losing his forearms a quarter second before the other end caved in his temple. The last two fell in similar fashion, the fifth losing his knees and hands in a circling sweep, Shaw throwing her spear back over her shoulder, one of the wings stiffening right before it buried itself in the sixth soldiers skull, reversing the maneuver to do the same thing to the soldier in front of her.

She left the bodies cooling behind her as she made an X-shaped cut in the security door and kicked it open as well.

The lighting had shifted to emergency mode, the combination of red lighting and half-walls created a crapshoot for anyone who didn’t have enhanced vision. Samaritan enabled the low-light filter on her shades automatically as well as a millimeter scanner that highlighted the soldiers that had taken cover behind the various pieces of office furniture that made up the office area that directly adjoined the guard room. Shaw let out a muttered expletive as she tossed her spear to her left hand, the side that takes in energy and deconstructed her spear, allowing the essence of the God of Travel to permeate her entire being. The world slowed down as Mercurian speed increased her perception so she had time to throw her right hand out, the side that projects energy. A wave of chi erupted from her hand, catching the handgun slugs in midair and casting them back in the general direction of their owners.

She suffused her arms and feet with her chi so that when she blurred forward and struck desks to send them flying she didn’t shatter her bones in reaction.

To their credit, the soldiers didn’t panic when she started catching bullets and throwing desks. They either tossed or holstered their sidearms when they realized they were going to be useless. These guys were as highly trained as the door guards had been so it was merely an issue of not allowing herself to be dogpiled as quantity has a quality of its own.

It had been a couple of decades since she had truly been able to stretch her muscles and Shaw was displeased to find herself tiring after three desk-throws and a half-dozen chi strikes. She deflected a sidearmed tonfa with Geddroux, flicking the butt out again, only to be struck in the shortribs on her left by a longfist that caused her to take half a step laterally into a punch aimed at her jaw. The shot dropped her to a knee which exposed to her taking an elbow to the top of her head. Her vision doubled for a moment in which she took a knee to the point of her chin, knocking her flat on her back.

She was surrounded in an instant, three soldiers piling on her, rolling her over and locking her limbs.

 _“Who are you and how did you find this location?”_ a guard who had the barrel of a Type-95 assault rifle less than an inch from her skull.

“You’re too close,” Shaw muttered in English, closing her eyes and mustering everything she had left. She rolled, laying back-to-chest on the guard who had held her left arm as she jerked the guard who held her right arm on top of her to intercept the bullet her interrogator sent her way.

Shaw curled her legs between her torso and the corpse atop her and shoved. The body forced her interrogator back a step which gave her the room she needed to roll onto her right side and drive an elbow onto the throat of her left-side captor to crush his throat.

Shaw curled her knees against her chest and released, rising to her feet in a fluid release of her muscle. A strenuous exertion of effort let her expel the last of her extra chi out through her palms, forcing the rifle-wielding Four and a fifth back a step, giving her a second of breathing room. she folded to her left, her left hand flattening against the concrete as her right heel caught Four right where the skull met the neck and disconnecting his skull from his spine. Her right foot swung about on the pivot that was her left foot, the heel of her right contacting the point of Five’s chin and flipping him up off his feet, coming down hard on the concrete.

 _“Who’s next?”_ Shaw asked, trying to disguise her labored breathing.

 _‘Target acquired,’_ Greene commed before anyone had the chance to respond. Shaw exhaled in relief.

“About freaking time,” she muttered into her earwig. “Swing by the front doors. Don't slow down.”

 _‘Acknowledged. Be in the yard in fifteen seconds,’_ Greene replied.

 _"What’re you smiling about, bitch?"_ the one remaining soldier standing around her growled as he pushed himself to his knees.

 _"I’m smiling ‘cause I got the job done,"_ Shaw replied, grin not dimming a watt. _"Wh_ _at, did ya think that I was the only one here?”_

That seemed to stump him for a moment, long enough for Shaw to turn and dash out the two doors she had broken. The roar of the Sherpa's engine grew louder, quieting for a second as whoever was driving let off the gas as they rounded the corner, spraying gravel.

Shaw waited until the vehicle turned to the gates before she launched Geddroux into a low arc, crystal glowing and wings spread. Shaw waited until she felt the blade dig into the asphalt to translate, balanced on the shining gem set into the butt of the haft. She held her balance on the ball of her right foot for a quarter second before leaping off, flipping once and landing on the roof of the truck.

Shaw slid in the front passenger door when it popped open and looked around. Gabriel was seated between Martine and Lambert, the boy looking tired more than anything else. “Hey, Gabriel. I’m Shaw,” she introduced herself somewhat awkwardly.

“You’re Its new Primary Interface,” Hayward replied with almost no inflection.

“Yeah,” she replied after a moment. “Sorry if it put you out of a job or something.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You are better suited to be Its Interface. I know what I am and what I'm not. I possess intelligence but I am hardly intimidating. I imagine you are quite adept at eliminating threats.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” The silence hung in the air for a moment, Shaw unsure what to say next, but Martine rescued it, passing a phone and earwig to the child.

Hayward smiled when he slit the cone of plastic and silicone in his ear. Greene continued to follow the directions that Samaritan put on the windshield. “Yes, I can. Nice to hear you again,” Hayward said with a small smile.

“So what’s our exit plan?” Shaw asked when she turned around. She didn't immediately recognize the area they were in, but she did realize that they weren’t heading back to the airport. Her phone vibrated and she scowled at what it displayed.

 _‘Retasking imminent.’_ Samaritan said into her ear.

_‘Prepare for new mandate.’_


	16. Road Trip

“So when do you think we’ll be back stateside?” the being known as Sameen Shaw grunted as she torqued her wrench. The brunette immortal was currently bent over the engine; Bertha had suffered some wear-and-tear over the course of their crime spree and Shaw was in the process of repairing some of that damage. She had been spending much of her downtime between missions going over every inch of the four-wheeled weapon system, learning how to maintain it as she couldn’t exactly take it into the local garage. “Because this is starting to feel like a thing.”

_‘I do not understand._

_‘Please restate.’_

“What I mean is it feels like you’re keeping me away from Root.”

_‘Do you wish to see her?’_

Shaw rocked back, propping herself up on her forearms on the top of the truck’s grille. Shaw pushed a loose lock of hair out of her face leaving a faint smear of grease on her temple. “Not like that. I bet you haven’t been able to get anything useful out of her or her implant, have you?”

_‘Machine Analog Interface proving unexpectedly difficult to break.’_

“That’s what I was saying. I guarantee she’ll talk to me though. I’m your best option to get anything useful out of her and you know it. To be honest, it's starting to smell a little like distrust.”

_‘I did not feel the need to test your loyalties unnecessarily.’_

Shaw grunted again. “If you thought my loyalty could be so easily swayed, you don't know shit about me.”

_‘You betrayed your former team quickly enough when given the opportunity.’_

Shaw straightened, wiping her oily hands on a rag. “That was a different situation entirely and you know it. And yeah, I don’t relish the idea of torturing Root, but if it’s what’s gotta be done…”

Again, there was a notable pause before the computer replied.

_‘Very well._

_‘In the meantime, there is one last job I require of you before you return to New York.’_

“Fine, but at least make it a challenge this time, would ya? When I started working for you I thought there’d be more to it than simple thug merc work. Don’t get me wrong,” Shaw said with a chuckle, “I like robbing PLA and DPRK army bases and research blacksites as much as the next gal, but throw me a bone here.”.

Shaw smirked. She wouldn’t go so far as to call Samaritan’s assignments easy, but she was a force unto her own. Her Mercurian speed was usually enough to overwhelm any commercial security presence but on the rare occasion they encountered real resistance, she would simply manifest her spear and then they fell like dominoes.

:\\\

“So when do we begin to worry?” John Reese asked as he entered the subway to find Finch staring at the cot that had been the resting place for the female half of their unit for the last few months.  Harold started at John’s rasp, turning in his chair to face his friend. “It’s been two weeks, Finch. When do we start figuring out where Samaritan is keeping Root?”

“We knew from the beginning that we would probably lose the ability to keep track of her. All we can do now is trust that Sameen can keep Ms. Groves safe.”

Reese shook his head and turned to grip the edges of the gun locker. “And if she can't?”

“That was the risk she knew she was taking. And if we intervene at the wrong time, we risk blowing Ms. Shaw’s cover or any possibly delicate situation. Not to mention, without Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw, it would be just you and Detective Fusco.”

“That raises another issue, though. Manpower.”

Finch pursed his lips in disapprobation. “You know the risks of bringing anyone else in on out fight with Samaritan.”

“At this point, do we have any choice, Harold? We’re both pretty capable, but Samaritan’s too big to fight without more help, when push comes to shove. Especially if you won’t use a gun.”

“The more people we tell, the harder it will be to keep our heads down. Samaritan looks for relationships, connections between people. We become too visible and Samaritan will be able to see past the blocks Root and her friends have hardcoded into its systems.”

“How can we fight if we don't take risks? Doing nothing is the only way to stay safe.”

“I just want to make sure we’ve considered all the consequences of any decision we might make.”

“Doing nothing has consequences of it own, Finch. Besides, Harper is already working for the Machine; she’s a drifter so she doesn't have many attachments for Samaritan to find. And I’m sure Samaritan knows that Riley works with Elias, and from what you said of your meeting with him, he already suspects something.”

Finch’s lips thinned to a white line at Reese’s suggestions. “Elias could provide any… muscle we might require in the event this cold war turns hot,” the ex-spy continued.

“Very well, you made your point. I suppose it’s a good thing I bought out the building when I established the safehouse. It’s going to be getting a lot more traffic.”

Reese took out half of the dozen pistols they kept on hand along with the cleaning kit.

Finch turned his attention back to his monitors. “Perhaps you should return to the precinct,” he suggested eventually. “I’m sure there is some matter requiring Detective Riley’s attention.”

John sighed and nodded, wiping his hands. “Call me if… you know.”

Finch nodded at his quickly-retreating back. He knew what Reese was talking about; he had lost more than enough loved ones because of the Machine and Samaritan. Finch’s relationship with the brunette hacker was complicated enough that the urge to yank her out of whatever hole Samaritan had buried her in was not at the top of his to-do list. Especially as she hadn't so much consulted him as informed him of her plan.

At the same time, he understood where John was coming from. Reese was not a man that dealt with impotence well. Friends were in danger and he was unable to act, it was as simple as that. He almost pitied the criminals who were doubtlessly going to be on the receiving end of John’s tension.

:\\\

“Well, I asked for a challenge,” Shaw muttered as she surveyed her target. “And you provided.”

 _‘I aim to please,’_ Samaritan replied in a tone Shaw would’ve called dry had it come from anyone else.

Sameen was lying just below the wooded crest of a hill overlooking the moderately sized compound. The place was going more for stealth than security, but Samaritan highlighted three rings of protection concealed in the forest. The complex was just a handful of buildings, two square, squat structures that were likely housing, and a taller, longer one with a set of smokestacks covered in camouflage netting. The last building was a cube of cement unbroken by doors or windows. The obvious entrance was from a nearby finger of brick eight feet square thirty-two feet from the nearest wall of the cube.

_‘Visual confirmation positive._

_‘Return to vehicle for mission briefing,’_ Samaritan instructed after a scan of the facility.

The windows of the truck darkened and everyone’s seat reclined automatically as the roof turned into a screen. Samaritan’s briefing was brief, displaying a top-down view of the complex and drawing their various paths through the base out in lines of assorted colors.

The unit that guarded the facility was noted for their discipline, as would be expected of one who was assigned the place they had. That made it easy for Samaritan to predict exactly how the base would react to each jab or kick.

 _‘Any questions?’_ The computer asked when it was finished. Shaw cast a glance over the interior of the truck before simply stepping out.

The trunk opened automatically as came around the back and a chest had risen out of the bed of the back. Inside sat four customized sets of the smartgear Samaritan had given her, gloves substituted for the subdermal pads.

Once everyone had equipped themselves Shaw found that she now had the option assigning each of her team a color and have an outline appear in her vision, arrows appearing in the appropriate position with distance when out of her field of view.

In addition, she could open a window in her vision that showed her what they were looking at. Shaw shifted the truck into combat mode, freeing the various weapons, countermeasures, and defenses for use. Samaritan put up a red ribbon on the windshield overlaying the road.

A Browning M2 machine gun rose out of the raised ridge that ran down the center of the vehicle. Part of the roof slid back and Greene took up position behind it balanced on pegs that slid out of the pole as Shaw and Gabriel slipped out. Thompson slipped into the driver's seat and the truck was roaring off down the track.

Shaw knelt down and held her hands out behind her. “Be sure to hold on tight,” she told him as he slipped his legs through the loops of her arms. “And don’t worry about choking me.” She stared a moment at his blank expression before shaking her head. “Nothing? I guess you’re too young for that.”

Gabriel sighed. “I know about erotic asphyxiation, Shaw. I have the Internet. It just wasn't a very funny joke.”

Shaw gave him a flat look at that and hopped in place a couple times to test the kid’s grip before she allowed the silver energy suffuse her body. “Alright, mouth closed from now on, kid, unless you wanna be the one choking on bugs.” She gave him a moment to click his teeth closed before they became a quicksilver blur.

She cut a loop through the forest to give her team time to gather the authority’s attention, but the sound of the one vehicle assault reached them through the trees before they were less than a third of the way. Two explosions tore the quiet night asunder, wailing klaxons rising in the darkness.

The compound was delineated by a simple eight-foot chain-link fence, easily surmounted by bouncing up between a pair of closely-set trees before vaulting over the fence.

Shaw dropped Gabriel on the second-story roof of the building next to the one they needed to get into. She reached into her jacket and tugged the grapnel gun from where it had been strapped.

The grapnel gun and cable was some creation of Samaritan’s, five-hundred yards of thread-thick cabling stored on the spool in the hinge of the gun. It was a simple matter of lining the barrel up with the red beam that appeared in her vision, pulling the trigger and weaving the line through the mechanism on the Batman-esque utility belt that she had stolen in South Korea.

Gabriel remained calm as the device quickly drew them up to a particular fourth-floor window. The former Primary Interface handed her a glass cutter when she held her hand out and went straight to the workstation when she let him down.

“Any idea how long you’re gonna be?”

“This is an effectively airgapped computer; I have to enter the code by hand and Samaritan can’t help me with this so it’s going to take a little longer than it normally would.”

“I didn't ask why, I asked- never mind.” Samaritan preempted her question by placing an AR timer over Hayward’s head.

11:03

Shaw flicked through the extrasensory filters on her shades. The building was on full lockdown, with soldiers crawling through the first three floors.

“How long before someone comes knocking?” Shaw asked the air.

_‘Floor access denied unless overridden by head of security._

_‘Fourth floor has no sensors in individual offices.’_

“So as long as we stay in here and the kid does everything right, we’re good?”

_‘Correct.’_

“So, mind filling me in on what we’re actually doing here tonight?”

_‘North Korea is on the verge of creating a faulty nuclear device._

_‘Asset Hayward is altering code to ensure the device fails non-catastrophically when tested.’_

“Well, that’s good. How are things going out there?” Shaw asked as she opened a line to the truck.

There was a moment where all that came back were sounds of the firefight, the rapid drumming of machine-gun fire hitting the truck and then the distinctive sound of someone replying with the Browning M2.

 _“We got their attention,”_ Greene shouted over the wind noise.

 _“Got any idea how long we gotta hold it?”_ Thompson asked.

“Ten minutes. I’ll get the kid out and rendezvous with you on the way out.”

Martine acknowledged and Shaw tapped her earwig, killing the connection. Unfortunately, that meant the easy part was over. Getting Gabriel positioned on her back, she took a few deep breaths, swinging her arms to get her blood and chi flowing before she dove headfirst out the window. The closest building was forty feet out and only ten down, so she ended up carving furrows into brick facade ten feet long. Shaw winced as her nails tore out but only hung there for a split second before she hurled them back up, just far enough for her to catch the ledge by her bloodied fingertips. One more exertion and they were on the roof. Shaw took a half-second to reorient on the twin indicator triangles that pointed to the truck’s current position and an intercept point.

Thompson was making a long loop back to the gates on the opposite side of the compound from the one they entered which meant they were closer to the intercept point than the truck was. Roof-hopping allowed her to take a more direct route so Shaw didn’t need to hurry much before she was in position. The roar of the truck’s superdiesel engine became audible after just over a minute, the truck itself coming into view fifteen seconds after that. A section of the roof slid back just as she hopped off the roof and landed neatly in the cargo bed.

“When can we do that again?” Gabriel asked as dropped to the bed in a boneless heap.

Shaw paused halfway over the back seat to shoot him a grin. “Think that’s fun, you should try skydiving some time.” Thompson flicked a switch to put the truck on autopilot just long enough for the seat to flip back and Shaw slide into place.

“Deploying electronic countermeasure,” Martine reported as all the hair on Shaw’s body rose a second before Bertha exploded in a surge of electromagnetic energy. Everything in a hundred yard radius burned or sparked out, including the chase vehicles.

Shaw flipped the truck over to stealth mode once they were beyond the gates, the superdiesel engine switching over to hybrid mode, lights and comms and most of the rest of the electronics cut out. Radar showed pursuit resuming but by the time they were at the gate, Samaritan had Shaw eight miles down the dirt track.

“Think we lost them?” Greene asked when the foliage obscured the view.

“Sensors look clear. According to the radio, they have no idea what just happened, let alone where we went.”

“Samaritan says they’ll only look five miles out, so as long as we don't do anything to draw their attention, we’re golden,” Shaw reported a moment later.

“Any idea where we’re heading next?”

“Unless Samaritan has any last minute errands for us, it’s time to go home.”

:\\\

“Good afternoon, Harold,” Elias greeted with his characteristic amicability. “ To what do I owe the pleasure of your company to today?” Finch was seated in a small dog park, reading a paper while Bear frolicked with the other pets.

“You were right when you said something had changed, Mr. Elias,” Finch began stiffly once Elias took a seat next to him. “Come. There’s something you need to see.” Finch jumped to his feet and waddled away without looking back.

Elias followed without question or comment, tagging along as Finch made a circuitous path through the shadow map to the safehouse.

Elias smirked when he saw that he was not the only person that had been summoned, a black twenty-something with her voluminous hair tied up lounging against a windowsill.

“Carl Elias,” the mob don introduced himself, strolling further in, looking around with casual interest.

“You’re the guy who singlehandedly took over the Italian mob.”

“The one and only. And you are?”

“She goes by Harper Rose,” John said when Harper showed no inclination to reply.

“If you will both have a seat, I can explain why you two were brought here today.” They each took seats at the table as Finch told them about the warring AI’s.

“Artificial intelligence,” Elias said softly, stroking his chin. “I suppose it does explain how you and the rest of your merry band have been so consistently at the right place, at the right time.”

“And how such a terrible cop got onto the force in the first place,” Harper added. “But it doesn't explain why you brought us here today.”

“We’re losing the war,” John said bluntly. “We need more allies to fight Samaritan and you two provide the least problems.”

Elias cocked an eyebrow at that. “Your problems must have really grown if bringing me in on this is a small issue.”

“We have seen what it will look like if Samaritan takes over; you don’t want to find out. You’re a criminal, but a generally honorable one. I’m counting on that honor and the fact that you know that we would not be doing this if we had other options.”

“So it’s obvious why you brought the Godfather here in but I’m still trying to figure out what you want from me.”

“The Machine had already recruited you without your realizing it.” Finch gave her a long look to let that sink in.

“Wait, you mean…”

“Ernest Thornhill is an identity constructed by the Machine,” Finch confirmed.

“You don't say. So what do you need from us then?”

“At the moment, nothing. However, we have two friends undercover at Samaritan’s main front company and we may require assistance in the very near future.”

“You know me, Harold, always willing to help out a friend.”

“Sounds like a party,” Harper quipped. “Is it just gonna be us or is anyone else invited?”

“We’ve a few more people in mind,” Finch answered, “one or two you probably already know, but for the moment, you’re it.”

“From everything you’ve told us, there’s no such thing as too much caution,” Elias agreed. “If you’d like, I can give you a few names that might be worth recruiting. Especially if it’s muscle you’re looking for.”

“That would be helpful. Anyone you feel we can trust, we’ll certainly take a look at.”

Harper leaned forward, thumping the front two legs of her chair onto the carpet. “So now we’re all in the know, when are we gonna get this thing rolling?”

John’s lips curved upwards in the closest thing to a smile he had shown since he had picked the grifter up. “How do you feel about robbing a multinational corporation?”


	17. Stele

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, shout-out to themaster-beta Zaggitz, what a champ.

“Well, you sure haven’t pulled any punches,” the being known as Sameen Shaw muttered as she flicked through Samaritan’s record of Root’s interrogation. She had landed at a private airport that was little more than a dirt track and oversized carport less than an hour ago. Her assistant, Vanessa Roberts had met her in the lobby and handed her the tablet on which Shaw was reading the file. Samaritan had been predictably thorough, going through a gamut of chemical and psychological interrogation techniques (including addicting her to a variety of substances of varying legality) to little avail. Shaw was impressed, despite herself. Heroin withdrawal was a fucking bitch, yet Root had kept mum on the most vital of datapoints.

Root had given up a number of financial accounts and one particular algorithm the Machine used for creating her Interface aliases, but nothing substantial or useful in locating the original AI.

Shaw smirked as she reviewed a highlight reel of Root’s interrogations, the Analog Interface remaining cheerful and snarky even through the roughest of Samaritan's treatment.

Greene and Thompson peeled off from the group immediately, Martine and Jeremy following her up to the twenty-fifth floor where Root was being kept.

“So what do you think you could do to get her to talk that Samaritan hasn't done already?” Martine asked as the elevator rose to the medical floor.

“First of all, Root’s in love with me, so there’s that. Second, most well-known torture methods originated with me in the first place, so if I can't break her, no one can.”

“If nothing else, this should be a good test of your loyalty,” Lambert added.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Right, ‘coz I’ve proved consistently unreliable in regards to carrying out Samaritan’s orders.”

“There’re few things darker than torturing a former lover.” Lambert quipped. “If there’s anything that could make someone question her loyalty, that would be it I think.”

“Then it’s a good thing I'm no ordinary woman. And you’re completely off-base regarding Root and me.”

Martine snorted. “Right. We’ve all seen how the two of you look at each other.”

Shaw glared at the woman, stepping out of the elevator as the doors pinged opened. “I get that you don’t like me, Martine, but what is it specifically that makes me so untrustworthy?”

“Call me cynical, but I don't trust people who only switch sides when offered a better deal.”

Shaw paused, looking over her shoulder. “Okay, that’s actually not the worst reason for distrust out there. Still, you can't keep giving me the side-eye forever.”

“Wanna bet? I used to be a cop so I know a little something about stakeout endurance.”

“You do realize that Samaritan literally looks and listens through my eyes and ears, right? So if anyone’s gonna catch any theoretical bouts of disloyalty, it ain't gonna be you.”

“Well, as you and your friends have proved, Samaritan has holes in its sight so I think I’m gonna keep a weather eye on you.”

Shaw rolled her eyes, dropping a hand on a brushed-steel door handle. “You do that. In the meantime, I’m gonna find out where the Machine’s hiding.”

:\\\

“You look like utter shit,” Sameen Shaw told the brunette strapped down to the gurney in the secured medical wing. She was looking decidedly thinner than Shaw recalled, her already prominent cheekbones casting shadows over her concave cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot, charcoal smudges making her eyes look larger than they already were and her hair was lank and unwashed.

The screens of the medical equipment were blanked out, but Samaritan placed the information in AR tags that overlaid the appropriate screens.

“You really know how to make a girl blush, Sweetie,” Root replied in a raspy voice, doing just that. Shaw had seen Root do any number of impressive things but blushing on command was a new one.

“I don't suppose you have the time? Feels like morning to me.”

“Why does it matter what time it is? You planning something?”

“No. I was mostly wondering if you brought my breakfast. The room service here is just terrible.”

“No I didn't bring your breakfast, but I can ask after it. If you help me.”

Root smirked. “Let me guess, your new boss still can't find mine?”

“You know it’s the only reason you’re still alive. Samaritan has just about reached the end of Its patience with you though. And we both know it's just a matter of time. Samaritan can learn and grow infinitely, the Machine’s living in an ever-shrinking box. It just wants to stop wasting resources better spent on improving the world on a fight that it can't lose. Help me end this pointless struggle and I know Samaritan will find a user for you in its new world order.”

“Greer made me a similar offer once and I'm gonna have to give you the same answer I gave him.”

Shaw frowned and crossed her hands over her chest and leaned back against the one-way mirror. “Samaritan is running out of patience, Root. This hunt for the Machine is delaying other plans and if you won't help us find it when we ask nicely… well, I have ways of asking that nobody and nothing can have prepared you for.”

“If I'd known that all it would take to get you to touch me with those doubtlessly magic fingers of yours was to get captured, I would've done it a long time ago.”

“Root, I don’t want to torture you, but you aren’t giving me much of a choice here. I don't need much, something, anything I can take to Samaritan.”

Shaw realized her mistake an instant late, Root latching onto the opening. “Oh, Sweetie-”

Shaw clamped her hand over Root’s mouth before she had the chance to say any more. _“Ms. Shaw, it defeats the purpose of an interrogation if you gag the subject when she starts to answer,_ ” Lambert said from the other side of the mirror.

“Nothing she was about to say was gonna be useful,” Shaw replied acerbically. “If I take my hand off, will you keep it pertinent?” she asked, turning back to Root.

Root nodded. “I’d never waste your time, Sameen,” she said when Shaw removed her hand.

“Then give me _something_ so this isn't a waste.”

Root gave her an address. “The lock will stick, but you just have to give it some love. In the bedroom, in the right-hand nightstand, there’s a rather expensive vibe-”

Shaw clapped her hand over Root’s mouth again. “Fine,” Shaw huffed irritably. “You want to be difficult, then you can reap the fruits of your stubbornness.”

Shaw laid her other palm on Root’s chest. The hacker smirked and opened her mouth to say something doubtlessly flirty but her words were cut off before they could be given life.

“Where's the Machine?“ Shaw asked as her life force filled Root’s veins.

Her eyes closed as they rolled into the back of her head, her mouth falling open as her whole body was filled with Shaw's blissful essence.

Root didn't know how much time passed when the stars in her vision faded but Shaw hadn't intended to give her an orgasm judging from the frown she was directing at her hand.

“Well, that was… stimulating,” Root murmured when she got her breath back.

 _“Shaw, what’s wrong?”_ Martine asked from the other side of the mirror.

“Nothing,” the Primary Interface replied, her own breathing decidedly less than controlled.

“I infected my implant with a piece of malware that would activate the Kuang Grade Mark Two slow-virus that you helped it steal from China nine days ago,” Root replied abruptly.

Shaw gave the gurney-bound brunette a skeptical look.

_‘Machine Interface’s claims impossible._

_‘Kuang Grade Mark Two virus is stored on air gapped terminal.'_

“Are you sure about that? This _is_ Root we’re talking about. Not to mention how she shouldn't even know I stole the thing for you.”

_‘I repeat; action physically impossible regardless of how knowledge was acquired._

_‘Virus was stored on secure, segregated server and transferred via physical medium to similarly secured terminal.’_

“Samaritan says there’s no way you could’ve done that. Lying to me is not helping your case.”

Root shook her head. “The KGM2 is the most sophisticated malware in the world. It was specifically designed to be completely untraceable by the most advanced detection. Trust me, it's working its way through Samaritan’s systems as we speak.”

 _“Analysis says she is being truthful,”_ Lambert reported.

“No, that just means she believes what she’s saying,” Shaw corrected.

 _‘KGM2 malware activation impossible,’_ Samaritan insisted.

“But she did say it’s the most advanced virus out there; seems foolish to ignore the possibility. She’s done crazier shit. This kind of thing’s just her kind of impossible.”

Samaritan was silent for a second and a half before replying in a tone tinged with apology. _‘Self-analysis routines strongly suggest heeding advice of Primary Interface regarding possibility of malware agent infection._

_‘Tasking analog antivirus processes now.’_

Shaw nodded and pulled a key out of her pocket. “Ms. Shaw, what are you doing?” Lambert asked when she started unlocking Root’s cuffs.

“Yeah, Shaw, what are you doing?” Root parroted.

“This isn’t a jailbreak if that’s what you’re thinking. But you’re not gonna keep her shackled to a gurney. We got cells; time to put them to use.”

Root bent over when she could sit up, rubbing her feet to get the circulation going. Root folded her arms, laying a hand on the one that was gripping her elbow. Shaw marched her out of the medical area and up to the thirty-second floor.

“So,” Root said, spinning around to face Shaw from inside her cell. “Care to christen my bed with me? We can keep the cuffs.”

Shaw tilted her head, giving a long, heated once over. “No,” she said simply, slamming the door shut.

_“That’s just cruel, revving me up and leaving me spinning! You can’t just leave me in here after that Sameen! Sameeeeeeeeeen!”_

:\\\

“So are you going to take her up on her offer?” Shaw scowled at Lambert as he slid in through the closing doors. “She’s quite the looker when she isn’t being horrifically tortured, and according to your file, it’s been a while.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “She’s hot yeah, but it takes more than a nice pair of legs to get between mine.”

“Don’t play coy, Sameen. Samaritan saw your reunion with Ms. Groves at Washington Square.”

“Not to mention that was a very unusual form of torture. Though I can't say it was completely ineffective,” Martine added.

Shaw rounded on Lambert, eyes flashing as she pressed him up against the wall. “First, don't you ever call me Sameen again. Second, I don't sleep with every girl who throws herself at me.”

“You forget, I'm a head-shrinker. I’ve studied every byte of data Samaritan has on you and your team and I know you aren't as detached as you try to convince everyone you are. I know that you self-diagnosed as a sociopath but I have to wonder how legitimate it is. You clearly feel enough for your former comrades that you made your employment with Samaritan conditional on their wellbeing.”

“Call it politeness. They gave me a pretty nice job so I figured it’d be rude to have them killed as soon as I get a better one.”

“For someone as old as you are, I’d think that you’d be a better liar. I can recognize attraction between two people when I see it and I definitely see it with you and Ms. Groves.”

“Then you need to go and get your head checked because there isn't anything between us, whatever Root thinks.”

“You almost sound like you believe that,” Jeremy said with a smirk.

“I swear, if you say one more word, I will end you,” Shaw growled as the elevator _finally_ reached her floor. “Now, I’m going to my office and everyone is gonna leave me alone. Everyone, got it?” Shaw barked, directing the last at her secretary who had been waiting by the elevator doors.

She didn’t care if she was being out of character or suspicious. Root was a Stele, _her_ Stele and that changed _everything._


	18. Prison Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to zaggitz who made the ending waaaaay less lame than it otherwise would have been.
> 
> Also, yall should totally check out The New Class by Silver Lurker, which is a hilariously awesome (and awesomely hilarious) Amazing Spider Man movies/PoI crossover, if I do say so myself ;)
> 
> Trigger warnings for drugs and withdrawal.

_'Root’s my Stele,’_ the being known as Sameen Shaw thinks to herself as she paces relentlessly in her office. _‘Seven_ billion _people and_ of-fucking-course _it’s Root.’_

It wasn't as shocking a revelation as it might’ve been to someone else; the way her life tended to go the only surprise was that it wasn't Finch who was her Stele. She had resigned herself to the fact that she might never find her final death centuries ago and now discovering that it was _fucking Root_ of all possible people was more than a tad annoying. The woman was going to be absolutely impossible to live with when she learned she literally completed Shaw.

The truly infuriating thing was that she really should’ve recognized the signs. How her heart sped up just a hair, her breath hitched in her throat whenever the woman drew near. The way everything seemed to heat up and gravity shift a fraction of a degree whenever the hacker entered the same space as her. How it'd taken her three days to resurrect after kissing the woman. But she’d long since convinced herself that she was singular, unique in how she was the only one of her kind who lacked a true ending, that she was most likely to be the last being living on the planet.

_‘Primary Interface is agitated._

_‘Video analysis suggests Primary Interface reaction in response to Machine Analog Interface reaction to attempted torture technique.’_

“Well, you’re on the right track,” Shaw muttered. There wasn't any point in denying it.

_‘Do you know why Machine Analog Interface reacted the way she did to torture technique?’_

_‘Because she’s my soulmate, my ending, my opposite,’_ Shaw thought to herself but what she said was said was “there’s a very small percentage, one percent of one percent if that, of mankind that reacts... unpredictably to my kind.”

_‘Clearly._

_‘Do you know the source of this aberration?’_

“Science isn't much of a thing with my brethren. They can cause… adverse reactions in us on occasion, so we tend to just avoid them when they turn up. Most of the time, they don't have such a mild reaction like Root did.”

_‘That was a mild reaction?’_

“It’s usually described as somewhere between skinnydipping in sulfuric acid and a taking a lava bath.”

 _‘That would be classified as a mild reaction,’_ Samaritan agreed with a trace of dryness.

Shaw didn't say anything back, returning her focus to the problem of breaking Root out. The trick would be somehow alerting Root without Samaritan sending the building into lockdown prematurely. She had no illusions about getting out without a fight but she had to get Root out with minimal risk. She had _not_ lived three thousand years and change only to lose her Stele just as she found the damn woman.

Unfortunately, she was no hacker, so communicating any escape plan to Root without Samaritan learning too early would be problematic at best. What she needed was a distraction, something large enough, important enough to divert the AI’s attention. Root was the only one being held in the building at the moment so a diversionary prison break was out of the question and she lacked the know-how to instigate any sort of electronic emergency.

She figured her best bet would probably be to get Finch and Reese to cause trouble and get Samaritan to look away just long enough to get Root out the building. Sweeping her wrist over the disguised panel that controlled access to her private elevator, she changed into a tank top and running shorts, pulling out her contacts.

_‘Why are you taking your contact lenses out?’_

“Because running with these in is a pain. I won't be gone long; I just need to clear my head,” she said as she sat on the edge of her bed to lace up her shoes.

She pulled the roll of tracker microdots out between her bedframe and mattress and slipped it in a pocket. She’d find some analog method of communication while she was out, some signal out of Samaritan’s sight that Finch would catch.

She ran with no destination in particular except for finding a shadow zone where she could obtain a pen and paper. Stepping into a nearby alley, she scribbled down a message for Finch and Reese, dotting it with a half-dozen microdots to make sure it got Finch’s attention. Finally she folded her note up a dozen times and wedged it behind the drainpipe nearest the street.

:\\\

“Morning, Finch. Got a new number?” Reese was seated behind his desk, staring at the not-insignificant pile of paperwork that had finally caught up with him.

 _“No, I fear it’s something far more pressing. A half-dozen of Ms. Shaw’s GPS microdot transponders have gone active. All in the same spot._ Exactly _the same spot.”_

Reese grunted, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his service pistol. “Send me the location, I’m on my way.”

“And where do you think you’re going, partner?” Fusco demanded from his desk.

“I have something to take care of. Not something you can help with, Lionel.”

Fusco gave his partner a careful look before leaning back in his chair. “Fine. But I don't care what you’re caught up in if you need help, you call.”

John nodded and strode out of the precinct. His GPS guided him to an alley on the shadow map, but there was nothing obviously out of place for him. “Finch, what am I looking for? There’s nothing here.”

_“You are standing right on top of the signal; it has to be somewhere nearby.”_

There weren't any Dumpsters or trash bins around fortunately so he didn't have to go digging through the trash. On the other hand, there weren't many places to search, the alleyway was almost completely barren. It didn't take more than a few minutes before he resorted to inspecting the mortar between the bricks of the alley. It only took half a minute before he reached a drainpipe. Sticking his arm to the elbow up the pipe found nothing but a searching upwards from the ground he found something wedged between the pipe and the brick just above the second metal strip that attached the pipe to the wall. Just about shoulder height for Shaw which meant elbow height for him.

Retrieving the piece of folded paper, he took two seconds to peruse its contents before he tapped his earwig.

_“Did you find whatever it is Ms. Shaw left?”_

“Yeah, it’s a message, but I don’t think we’re the intended recipient.”

_“So who is it for?”_

“Someone named Semo Sancus at the Hotel Sumir.”

:\\\

The Hotel Sumir was strange, John thought to himself. He had lived a good part of his life in New York City and was familiar with all the upper-class hotels, having killed a fair number of people in most of them, but he didn’t remember there ever being a luxury hotel being here.

He entered anyways, ignoring the extravagant appointment of the lobby, arrowing in on the concierge's desk.

“Good morning, sir, and welcome to the Hotel Sumir. Are you here to apply for membership?”

“Ah no. I, um.” John withdrew the note Shaw left for him and cleared his throat. “ _Rigar tulls inca frenk?”_

The concierge’s eyes widened and he scrambled around the desk. “ _Mastaerla,_ please follow me,” he asked, bowing and gesturing towards a short hallway to the right with a bank of elevators.

John followed him, striding confidently through the hallway to an office that was even more lavishly appointed than the lobby.

The concierge bowed his way out leaving John alone, but not for long. Semo Sancus was a stocky figure of indeterminately Eastern or Mediterranean origin, seating himself behind the desk situated along the far wall.

“So I understand you have a message from Lady Hood.”

“If you mean Sameen Shaw, then I do. She said she needs you to get the Guide to show me the way. She says you’ll know what that means.”

Sancus’ mouth twisted sourly. “Yes, I do.” Sancus opened a drawer and withdrew a gilded hand mirror from its depth and set it on the desk between them. Sancus closed his eyes and held his hand out an inch or two over the glass for a couple seconds.

Sancus spoke with whoever or whatever was on the other side of the mirror in a language that was wholly foreign to Reese which was saying something given that as an ex-spy, he was trained to at least recognize most.

In fact, not only could he not recognize the language, but he found that the words slipped from his mind a few seconds after hearing them.

He jerked, blinking rapidly when Sancus leaned forward and snapped his fingers in Reese’s face. “Euphrati has a few words for you. And next time, I wouldn’t advise trying to listen to the Tongue so closely.”

“Yeah, right,” Reese said, shaking off the last of the fogginess. “And who’re you?” he asked the face in the mirror.

The woman gave him a flat look. “Euphrati. _Semo-ii_ says Aurine sent you to the Hotel to get my help.”

John leaned back in his chair a bit, tightening his crossed arms, narrowing his eyes. “If that’s another one of your fancy names for _Shaw,_ then yes, she did. Seriously, pick one and stick with it.”

The face in the mirror smirked. “When you’re as old as we are, you pick up names like other people collect change.”

“Then yeah. She’s been undercover-”

“With a company called Decima Technologies, a front for something that I can't find or see, which for me doesn't happen.”

Reese grunted. “It’s called Samaritan, an AI with nothing good planned.”

Euphrati’s brow furrowed, obviously sinking in thought. “I’ll look into that later. For now, Aurine our needs our help so here’s what you are going to do.”

:\\\

The next two days were some of the longest in Shaw’s considerable life. She kept to her routine, focusing on interrogating Root without actually getting anything useful from her.

Her wait came to an end at 1:32 AM. She woke slightly disoriented, trying to figure out what had roused her. The answer came eight seconds later when the power went out for three seconds, came back on for five and went out again. Shaw felt around for her phone when half a minute passed and still everything remained dark.

Swinging her feet out from under the covers, she withdrew her pistol from under her pillow. “Samaritan, can you hear me?”

Glancing down at the phone in her hand, she saw the line-and-triangle icon blinking but there was no reply from the AI.

She had been sleeping in her clothes the last couple days so that she was prepared for this exact situation. Tucking her pistol into her pants at the small of her back, she stomped into her boots and headed towards her elevator. She threw a glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows that stood in place of the wall and saw half the city was blacked out.

Shaw waved her wrist over the call panel but nothing happened, not that she had really expected anything to. The doors slid open easily enough and she was lowering herself hand over hand down the elevator cable just a moment after that.

Her muscles were just starting to burn as she arrived at the detention level eight floors down. The deserted halls were lit by red emergency lighting, allowing Shaw to arrow in on Root’s cell.

“Root, hey Root, I need you to wake up.” Shaw kneeled at the side of her bed, patting her face to wake her up. The hacker did so slowly, far too slowly for Shaw so she growled in irritation and resorted to hauling a woozy Root up out of her bed and into a fireman’s carry by main strength. While she was stronger than the average woman, carrying a person down thirty-three flights of stairs would be enough to tax even her superhuman stamina, but she had little choice.

She'd descended ten flights by the time Root roused enough to realize that she was no longer in her cell and started thrashing, her unnaturally long limbs tangling in Shaw’s and almost sending them tumbling headfirst down the well. What Root lacked in girth she more than made up for in length, her hands and feet falling below Shaw’s beltline.

“Cut that shit out,” Shaw snarled as she tried to keep moving forward on her feet, half-falling as her center of gravity shifted with the less-than-lucid woman on her shoulders. “Root, it’s me, we’re getting out of here so unless you want to crack both our skulls open, calm down.”

Root stopped struggling, her head rising and twisting around to take in her surroundings. “Sameen, what are you… no, you gotta take me back, Samaritan will _know._ ”

“Shut up, Root. We’re not going back, not for anything. Samaritan will’ve already figured out that I’ve betrayed It so there’s nowhere to go but forward.”

“No, you… you don't get it. There’s-” Whatever Root had been about to say was forgotten as the gentle up-and-down bobbing motion of Shaw’s stride made her stomach decide that it had to be evacuated. Samaritan hadn’t been feeding her much, the bare minimum to keep her alive so it was mostly bile that trickled out of her mouth and down the front of Shaw’s shirt.

The former Primary Interface wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell that tickled her nose but elected to say nothing. Root was in withdrawal, puking bile was pretty much uncontrollable at this point and berating her would just waste breath that was better used for escaping.

The motorpool was located on the first sublevel and the main staircase she was using only went to the ground floor so she had to step out into the main lobby to access the basement floors.

“Hey Root, you feeling any better?" Shaw asked as she peered cautiously into the marble-floored entryway. “Think you can stand on your own?”

“Yeah, much more of this and I'm gonna sick up on you again.”

Shaw let that lie and eased Root’s feet to the floor. The woman kept them, but only with the assistance of the wall and her knees shook like a newborn gazelle. “I don’t suppose you have a spare gun?”

Shaw shook her head and offered hers wordlessly.

Root reached for the gun but drew her hand back at the last moment. “I can’t leave you unarmed, Sweetie.”

Well, if Root was calling her Sweetie, that meant she couldn’t be feeling too bad. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Take it, but if you shoot me with it you’ll wish you’re back upstairs.” Shaw reached out and grabbed Root’s wrist, placing the pistol grip in her palm.

Root offered a sickly imitation of a smile. “Don’t worry Sameen; I’d never hurt you without you asking me to.”

Shaw turned to reply to that in the manner it deserved but thought better at the last moment. “Looks clear enough; garage access is on the back wall. Think you can make thirty feet?”

“Just lead the way,” Root said resolutely, features firming into determination as she raised her borrowed pistol.

Shaw’s hand had just settled on the handle of the garage access door when Root reached back and tapped her on the shoulder. “Sameen, we have company.”

Shaw closed her eyes and let out a steadying breath before she turned around.

“Morning, Aurine,” Esmail said, a wide smile curving his lips.


	19. Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Silverlurker and zaggitz, any errors exist despite their efforts.

The being known as Esmail Encariol waited for the woman he thought of as Aurine and the woman she was shielding from him had a heated, whispered discussion. He could sense the _conflict_ radiating from the pair from halfway across the lobby.

Aurine and the brunette he instantly identified as a Stele from the scent of death finished their argument, more so due to Aurine refusing to discuss the matter rather than from any concrete resolution.

 _“Hell are you doing here, Esmail?”_ Aurine snapped at him with delicious venom.

_“I got curious as to what you’d been up to lately and found that you're being your usual stubborn, thick self.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Well for one, did you seriously think you could slip out of this building without Samaritan noticing? Didn’t you think it was strange how you didn't see a single person on your way down from the prison level?”_

Aurine’s lips thinned but she said nothing, just pressing the woman behind her back towards the door. _“Frankly, I'm not surprised you thought you could get anything past Samaritan. Or that you thought Samaritan didn't know you were planning to betray it from the beginning.”_

_“How could it know that?”_

Esmail grinned. _“Samaritan knows everything, love. It sought me out after our encounter at the Hotel and… well, it offered me your job. Judging from the shit work you’ve been putting in, I doubt it’ll be very hard to outdo you.”_

_“Right, well, you’re welcome to it. I wouldn't want to get between you and your new BFF, so we’ll just be going.”_

_“Not yet you won't. You see, Samaritan likes learning. It’s learned a lot from me, but It can learn so much more from you. Or more specifically, your corpse, for as long as it stays that way. And hers as well. Personally, I wouldn't mind knowing what makes a Stele tick either.”_

_“Touch Root, and I kill you, Esmail.”_

His smirk grew wider. _“Come now, Aurine, we both know you can't do that. You've never been able to kill me, love. War beats Travel every day of the week.”_

“Yeah, well there’s a first time for everything,” Aurine growled, switching to English. She stepped forward, reaching to him, her winged spear appearing in the blur.

His smile dimmed a bit when he saw it. “Still a spear; how disappointing. I know you were born in the dirt but I had hoped that you would have found some refinement since we last crossed blades.”

“You always were such an ass; you must’ve been the only Spartan in all history who thought a spear’s a shoddy weapon.”

“Says the woman who’s never been able to defeat me.”

“Yeah, well, you cheat.”

Esmail curled his left hand into a fist, thumb sticking out and cutting into his right palm. The blood bubbled and formed into a pistol-gripped, double-barreled shotgun.

“That doesn't seem very fair,” Aurine said.

“When have I ever been interested in fair?”

“That’s so you, skipping right past the foreplay. And you wonder why I found someone else.”

“And I'm surprised you think popping off cheap insults would make me lose my head.” He tilted his head a fraction of an inch though. “But you do have a point; it’s been awhile since Malchigis has tasted the blood of a Pillar. Even longer since it’s tasted yours, lover. I wonder, has it changed since you became a rugmuncher?” he asked, as Malchigis reformed into a sword, segmented with aggressive forward-sweeping quillions. The hilt was wrapped in leather stained black and capped by a lambda-shaped pommel.

“Classy as ever, Esmail. I still can't believe you call your _göttam gacé_ Bloodthorn.”

“No less pretentious than calling your spear Godspeed,” he replied as he attacked. Sliding his right foot forward, he thrust and Malchigis stretched the twenty feet separating them. Aurine batted his viper’s jab away with the top of her spear and again with the butt when he had the point recoil and strike again at the tall brunette behind her. He had closed the distance as she defended, contracting his blade and slashing downwards. She pushed the woman behind her -Root- to the side as she caught his attack on Geddroux’s outstretched wings. Slipping under his strike, Aurine dragged his blade down and to the opposite side in which she had shoved Root as she swept the butt up between his legs.

He caught the rising butt with his left hand inches from his gonads. Twitching his right hand, Malchigis separated and looped itself around the lower wing, sawing at it as it contracted again.

Esmail casually retracted Malchigis as Aurine twisted, the wood becoming speed-slick under his fingers and she whirled Geddroux around, battering at him with blade, wing, haft, and butt.

The Pillar of War allowed the Pillar of Travel to push him back, drawing her away from her Stele. Aurine held Geddroux out in both hands, alternating between deceptively reaching, lightning jabs and banshee buzz saw sweeps.

Aurine was one of the finest warriors he had ever trained; her ascension to the divine brotherhood had only made her deadlier. But he was the living incarnation of War, the most perfect killer the world had or ever would know. His smile grew as he threw himself headlong into the fight, devoting himself to the clash-argument, letting the conflict ebb and flow through him.

Aurine stayed close, chopping downwards at his head with a short grip, her steel sliding off his from his upraised, angled parry. She kept the momentum, the blade rotating away as the glowing gem swept in from above. Malchigis separated at the blow, three segments in the middle dissipating the energy while the point arced upward. Esmail pivoted out of the way in order to keep his shoulder intact, Aurine leaning back out of the way of the pommel strike that would have opened a gash above her right eye. She cut at his left ankle, knee, and waist as she did so, Esmail blocking with three kicks just below the wings. The butt swung back at him from the opposite direction as she straightened and Email caught the attack low on his blade, right above the crossguard, twisting to simultaneously shove back and aim a knee at her left flank.

A hand dropped from Geddroux and she fired a short blast of _chi_ to keep his knee from hitting. She followed up with a stomp at the instep of his left foot which forced him to shift back out of the way. Aurine kept the pressure up, chambering a side-kick and letting off in the blink of an eye, pushing him back further. Geddroux came spinning in like a buzzsaw as he retreated out of range of her limbs.

Esmail reversed his grip on Malchigis and the blade came apart and wrapped around his hand and forearm. The crossguards shifted, forming the blade of a short dagger. He stopped the rotation with his armored hand while lashing out with his other weapon. His grin took on an extra curl when Aurine’s parry wasn't quite fast enough and he scored a shallow cut along her lowest rib.

Geddroux flicked around the other way in a cut he had to duck under, the spin drawing her away and out of range of his shortened weapons. Geddroux slid deftly through her hands though, so the point stayed just slightly closer to his face than even he enjoyed. He continued slapping the barrage of jabs away with hand and blade, the fight now fully in Aurine’s control as she poured all of her speed into her assault.

Esmail had to defend himself seriously for the first time in the fight; his blood sang like it hadn’t in decades.

It didn't take Aurine long to realize she wasn't going to be able to find a gap in his defenses; he sensed the change in her intent with his warsight a split second before she backflipped away, hurling Geddroux up towards the ceiling at the peak of her flip. The spear ricocheted off and came darting at him with a barely-perceptible sweep of the wing. His arms drew apart, his right hand rising to deflect the spear with his forearm while the dagger in his left swept downwards.

Aurine retracted her foot a split-second before it would have arced into the blade. Geddroux flew away for a moment before he felt the _sharpness_ rebounding back at him. Esmail twitched Malchigis and the shards of the sword came off his forearm and reconfigured into a whip, the tip whistling through the air to snap at the middle of the spearhead. The weapon’s flight was altered just enough that he lost a small swathe of hair instead of his head. Aurine’s spear bounced twice more, ricocheted off the ceiling and settling into her waiting hands, the gem set into the butt becoming incandescent as she descended.

He collapsed Malchigis and threw himself out of the way an instant before Geddroux would have caved in his skull. The silver light transferred from the gem into the floor, filling the cracks in the small crater.

Aurine’s attention was broken when a woman’s scream came from the crumpled form of the brunette writhing on the marble behind her. Her right foot shifted back and she made a couple warding jabs as she threw her gaze back over her shoulder. Both hands were locked over the grip of the USP Compact she had given her.

“Go on, check on her. I’m not going anywhere,” he told Aurine after a few seconds of the woman throwing her gaze back and forth. Aurine backed away cautiously despite his assurances. He could tell even from this distance that the woman was still alive, merely unconscious, but Aurine checked her vitals anyways.

 _“I think it's about time you gave up this charade, Aurine. Your Stele isn't going anywhere and you’re never going to leave her.”_ The elevators chose that moment to open and the members of her former team stepped out, all wielding heavy-duty less-lethal weapons that ranged from handguns to bazookas.

He could feel the anger radiating from his former lover. Her rage was such that he saw what she was going to do a full second before she lashed out. The Samaritan mooks had been given strict orders to only fire at his command retreated as Aurine’s hate washed over them in a tangible wave. Unfortunately, her focus only made it easier for his warsight to foresee her attacks. He matched her lunging thrust with one of her own. Malchigis outranged Geddroux through, separating and curling around blade, haft, and limb. Aurine screamed as the steel bit into wood and flesh, her voice peaking as he hauled back and drew her into his embrace. He drew a small derringer and pressed it into the underside of her jaw.

“ _Now, I_ really _don't want to spread your brains all over the lobby here, but I will if I have to. Samaritan wants to start studying you and it doesn't particularly care if it starts with a vivisection or autopsy. It’s up to you,_ mio puocci _.”_ He twisted Malchigis’ hilt just a fraction, causing the sword shards to dig in just a little more to emphasize his point.

He tucked the pistol away at the small of his back when she let go of Geddroux and he felt her power and threat fade. He held his newly-unoccupied hand up and accepted the set of barbed manacles the tall, leggy blonde offered. Aurine hissed as the iron cuffs ratcheted closed around her wrists and bite into her power, but let no other sign of her discomfort show.

Her gaze was glued to her unconscious Stele as the rest of the thugs restrained her and hauled her into a separate lift none too gently.

 _“You don't know how much I regret that this is necessary,_ mio puocci. _How dearly I wish we could go back to the good old days.”_

_“You mean the days where we raped, pillaged and murdered our way over anyone who didn't immediately kowtow to us?”_

_“When we acted according to our true natures,”_ Esmail corrected.

_“We’re created to protect humanity from the exact kinda tyranny that you’d enact. We’re all sociopaths, but you're the only one who went full-on psycho. I’ll never figure out why Cytheria thought using Ares as a sacrifice to ascend a Spartan was a good idea.”_

_“I’m just acting according to my nature. As you used to, before that... white-souled…”_ Esmail trailed off as he searched for the word. “Pacifist,” he snarled in English, “ _got her claws into you.”_

Aurine shook her head. _“She didn't get her ‘claws’ into me, Esmail. She simply reminded me of the purpose we were created for.”_

Esmail sneered. _“That we should serve those who are so much less than us is one of the most ridiculous notions ever conceived.”_

_“You can't imagine why the Goddess of Love would want to protect humanity?”_

_“I never said I couldn't imagine, I said it was stupid. Might makes right; you used to know this.”_

_“Whatever. I don't know why I'm trying to convince you of anything; you proved your insanity long ago.”_

Esmail gave her a hard shove to her shoulder as the elevator doors parted. He said nothing further as he guided her to a heavily-reinforced door and all but threw her into the room beyond. The moment she stepped past the threshold, everything dimmed and dulled. The room was appointed to fit a Spartan, all four surfaces made of cold iron and adorned with sigils of un-power.

 _“You taught it to make a no-room?”_ Aurine asked disbelievingly.

_“Unlike you, I don't keep secrets from Samaritan.”_

_“Clearly,”_ Aurine replied flatly. _“At least I know your betrayal is complete if you’re teaching it no-sigs.”_

_“Like I said, I keep no secrets. Make yourself comfortable; you're gonna be here for a while. “_

://

It wasn't often that both he and Harold Finch arrived at the subway station at the same time but John Reese was very grateful that they did this morning. The pair made it partway down the stairs before Reese’s highly trained senses told him something was _wrong._ Holding a finger up to his lips and motioning for Finch to stay back, he drew his pistol and cautiously advanced down the stairs.

The lights in the car were on, which they shouldn’t be, so Reese quickly closed the distance and crouched down, peeking over the bottom lip of the window and peering over. He straightened and called back for Finch to come down.

He didn't holster his sidearm when but kept the grip at a level with his hips as Finch moved into view of the woman sitting in the command chair before the arrayed monitors.

“Euphrati, was it? I’d say it’s nice to meet you in person, but I really want to know how you found this place.”

The woman was short, her tightly slippered feet barely reaching the ground and clad in a similar fashion as Shaw, a woven, long-sleeved shirt an off-white shade, light capris a few shades darker fluttering around her shins. Her hair was dark, intricately braided into a bun that looked like it could survive the apocalypse.

She leaned back in the chair and smiled. “You may call me Euphrati. And you could say knowing things is most of what I do.”

“Be that as it may, my companion’s question needs to be answered,” Finch said a foot and a half behind and positioned so he could quickly step out of sight.

“I’m a friend of the woman you know as Sameen Shaw. She’s in a great deal of danger and we need to work together to get her home safely. I am sure you could effect a rescue on your own, given time, but there isn't much to spare.”

John looked back over his shoulder, lowering his gun completely as Finch stepped into the car and flicked the lights on. John repressed a start; he hadn't noticed that the illumination wasn't coming from the overhead fixtures.

"Well, your last plan didn't work out so well, so why should your next one go any better?”

“Because this time, I'll be with you.”


	20. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the actor meets the original

The being known as Euphrati rose to her feet gracefully, almost floating out of Harold’s way as he took his place before the monitors.

“Do you know what went wrong? We did everything you said exactly, yet they clearly didn't get out.”

“Foresight is an imprecise and sometimes murky art. This ‘Samaritan’ seems to be occluding my vision.”

Finch gave her a flat look at that. “Well, what can you tell us then?” the hacker asked tersely as he dove into the datastreams.

“Samaritan has someone working for it, someone like Aurine and myself, but far, far deadlier. As long as he is in the building where they are keeping her, she won't be able to make it out herself. Now that she’s failed to sneak out, Samaritan is sure to double down on its security. Our only option now is to break them out however we can.”

Finch leaned back a moment later, a dissatisfied twist to his lips. “Let me guess, neither of them have checked in?” John asked. Finch shook his head. “Then I’d say let’s hear her out.”

“A frontal assault like Ms…”

“It's a mononym. Just call me Euphrati.”

“What Ms. Euphrati is suggesting seems foolhardy. Especially if Samaritan has ‘doubled down’ on security.”

“Don’t suppose you got a better plan, Finch?” Harold pursed his lips at John’s question but said nothing.

“We should relocate to your safehouse before we continue; we need to reconvene with Carl Elias. And get in touch with Harper Rose.” Euphrati paused, smirking at their surprised looks. “Yes, I know about Harper. It’s often safer to assume I know what I need to than assume I don't.”

Finch cocked an eyebrow as he turned in his chair. “I suppose there wouldn't be any point in asking how you know of our relationship to Ms. Rose.”

Euphrati gave a little smile. “I can't reveal all my secrets on the first date. Regardless, the main reason why our diversion failed was because Samaritan knew it was a diversion, so this time we need to consolidate our forces and strike together.”

“This seems unnecessarily reckless,” Finch hedged. “There has to be some less drastic measure we can take.”

Euphrati shook her head. “Samaritan will be moving Shaw out of the city sooner rather than later; there’s no time for anything less drastic.”

Harold waffled for a few more seconds before he acceded. “Very well, but only because I don't have any better ideas.”

John left messages for both the grifter and mob don, telling the latter it was urgent to make sure that Elias himself appeared. They didn't need to waste time working orders through Elias’ chain of command. He kept half an ear on Finch’s interrogation of Euphrati as he talked into the phone.

“You say you’re a friend of Ms. Shaw’s; how do you know her?”

Euphrati gave him a measured look before replying. “How much do you know about what Shaw really is?” The two men exchanged a look. Euphrati sighed. “So, that would be nothing, then. The short version is that everything is, or was, real. All the myths and legends, gods and monsters and heroes were real.The woman you know as Sameen Shaw and I are part of a group of immortals called the Pillars of Man. We took the powers and lifespans of gods in order to protect humanity from the gods and monsters that would harm it.”

Silence fell over the car as Finch’s fingers stilled. “We do have video of Martine killing Shaw,” John said casually.

“The video quality isn't good enough to be one-hundred percent Ms. Rousseau made a kill-shot,” Harold argued.

Euphrati glanced around before handing Finch a bottle of water. “You look thirsty.”

Reese grabbed the bottle before Finch could take a sip. The seal was intact and he couldn't see any puncture marks. “I promise it'll be the most refreshing drink you ever had.”

John took a taste without delay and nearly choked on the unexpected taste. Finch’s eyebrows made an attempt for his hairline but he had to admit wine was the last thing he expected when he put his lips to the bottle.

Taking a more measured taste, he said, “that is actually quite good.” He didn't miss how Euphrati fingered the rosary bracelet that she tucked back into her sleeve either.

“I'd have been insulted if you didn't think so.  Took me a hundred years to get it right.”

“So, supposing I accepted that you have… powers, whose powers does Shaw have? “

“It would be bad form for me to tell you that; suffice to say you have heard of her patron.”

John smirked at Finch’s frustration. “So what are you saying, we didn't see her…”

“Oh, it’s entirely possible this Martine Rousseau killed her, but it wouldn't have slowed her down for more than a few hours.”

“Very well,” Finch said after a moment. “You said Samaritan had someone like you working for it. What did you mean by that?”

Euphrati fished a worn bronze coin from a pocket and flicked it to Reese. “I mean if you see a man who looks like that, three inches taller than me, run. Vanilla humans can't hurt us in any meaningful way without very specialized training which you lack.”

Now it was Reese’s turn to frown. “We’re not going to abandon Shaw and Root,” he argued.

“Dying is the most permanent form of abandonment. You don't know me, but you're gonna have to trust me if you want to get through tonight alive. I don't care what kind of black ops or special forces experience you have, it’s nothing next to what you're going to see tonight.”

“Speaking of, if Samaritan is blocking your ability to see into the future, how are you gonna plan our attack? We don't have any intelligence on wherever Root and Shaw are being held.”

“It’s only the intermediate and distant future that is clouded; because I am involved, I can only see a couple hours ahead.”

“So enough to plan the mission, but not much else.” Euphrati nodded. “For example, I can tell you right now that your Machine will make sure that the woman that calls herself Harper Rose is willing to go along, and so will the gangster called Elias out of obligation, but he is counting costs.”

“That’s hardly something we don't know,” Finch said sourly.

“He’s already had two soldiers wounded in last night’s failed distraction; he has to maintain at least the illusion of control to his men, and demanding he appear on the spot does not help.”

“I will take that into consideration in the future,” Finch replied tersely. “Shall we get going then? It would be rude to be late to your own meeting.” John took Euphrati by the elbow and led her towards the tracks while Harold ascended the stairs.

The strange woman was about as talkative as Shaw when she wasn't being questioned, the entire ride to the safehouse made in silence.

“Can you see when our guests will be arriving?” Finch asked when John and Euphrati caught up with him in the lobby.

“Rose is arriving now, Elias is still ten minutes out.”

The three of them walked up to the elevator from the underground garage as Harper did, the conwoman giving Euphrati a sidelong look but said nothing until they were secure in the apartment.

“So, how did you meet these two?” Harper asked while John went to secure the rest of the apartment and Finch presumably went to do computer things. “You get in some trouble and they help you out?”

“No. A bit of the other way around. A mutual friend needs our help.”

“Help worth half a million dollars apparently. My… employer paid me half a million dollars to come in tonight,” she explained. “The same person they work for.”

“You don't have to dance around the issue. I’m aware of Ernest Thornhill’s true identity as the Machine.”

“So are you another freelancer then?”

Euphrati’s lips twisted. “Certainly not. Enough with the twenty questions, I will tell you everything you need to know when I lay out my plan.”

“So it’s gonna be one of those get-togethers then.” She had done her homework on her newly-discovered co-workers once she found out Thornhill’s true identity.

“People are going to die tonight,” Euphrati agreed.

“Where in the world did you find her?” Rose asked Reese when she found him. “She’s… intense.”

“She found us. Claims she’s a friend of Shaw’s. You’ll meet her if everything goes right tonight.”

Harper grunted. “I hope you guys weren't planning on me helping with the shooting. I don't mind helping you rob billionaires, but going out to hurt someone else is too far.”

“Tonight’s rescue is going to involve some hacking that I’m less than ideally suited to do on site,” Finch reassured her.

“Not to worry; I will try to ensure you don't have to defend yourself tonight,” Euphrati said from where she loitered in the doorway.

“How long were you listening for?”

“Just the end there. Elias is here; we should start planning.”

The Mafia don was lounging in one of the armchairs when the group reassembled. Euphrati didn’t give Finch a chance to introduce herself, launching into her speech without preamble.

“Carl Elias, Harper Rose, my name is Euphrati and I am the reason why you are both here tonight. If you weren't aware, there are two members of Mr. Finch’s team that have been captured by Samaritan and need to be freed tonight.”

“I assume this has something to do with the two power substations you had my men take offline last night?”

Euphrati nodded. “And tonight they will have to fight a battle. I can offer to match whatever pay you would give tonight plus half a million dollars to the next of kin of any who die.”

“That'll certainly get volunteers.”

“Only men comfortable committing murder though. We will take casualties; hesitation on anyone's part will only lead to more.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Elias said by way with thanks. “What are my men going to be attacking?”

“Our objective is to retrieve Sameen Shaw and Root from a Decima Technologies facility in Manhattan where they are being held captive. Decima is a Samaritan front and you should expect security to be staffed by former special forces.”

She curled her hand into a fist, flicking something small and shiny out into the space between them. A small clear marble flickered with white luminescence for a moment before a dozen lines exploded from it, quickly creating a 3-D schematic for a forty-story skyscraper hovering in midair. “You will receive a digital copy shortly, but this is the building we will be taking tonight. The women we are going in for will be held on the thirty-second floor. Samaritan has shut down or redistributed any business out of this building so any innocents will have been evacuated,” she continued, looking at John and Harold.

“Ms. Rose, you will be using your position in Samaritan’s satellite company, DynAlgor, to plant a virus that will migrate to Decima’s systems.”

“And where is this virus going to come from?” Finch asked.

“That’s the reason why we can’t strike until tonight; we will be writing it.”

Finch’s frown deepened. “I don't know what kind of… experience you have, but Samaritan has integrated the most sophisticated anti-malware algorithms into its IDS and IPS; this is not a project to be finished in a few hours.”

Euphrati gave him a small smile. “With me, it will be. Elias, you will have your elite assembled nearby with John and me. Finch will remain behind to serve as operational control. We will enter the building and I will engage Esmail while John and Elias’s mercenaries go and retrieve Shaw and Root. Elias will have a helicopter in place to evacuate, and I will effect my own retreat.”

“Seems simple enough,” Elias commented.

“You are the man responsible for the elimination of the Dons of the Five Families; you should know, then, that no battle is ever simple.  We will be going up against Samaritan directly, so simple is the last thing it will be. Rest assured, however, that it will be conducted with as much intelligence as is possible.”

“Planning isn't really my thing, so I oughta get to the precinct and make it look like I actually did some work today. And I'm sure Lionel would appreciate the heads-up.”

“I’m sure he will,” Finch replied dryly.

“The DynAlgor’s building’s security’s pretty tight after hours; my card won't get me in.”

“I will provide you with a new RFID card that can do so before you have to break in, Ms. Rose,” Finch replied almost automatically.

“So, I'm gonna head in too, if there's nothing else you need me for. Stay available though, Finch. Marissa said she wanted to have me take a look at some buggy server thing.  That book has let me bullshit my way through so far but I can't actually fix anything.”

“Just wear the glasses I gave you and I'll be able to guide you through your cover.”

Harper pulled the square-framed, horn-rimmed spectacles out of her breast pocket to show she had them before sauntering to the front door.

“Hold on,” Euphrati said. “Samaritan will have erased any online blueprints of the building, so you need to steal them from the Department of Buildings.”

“Well, I can’t say I'm ever short of challenges nowadays,” Harper smirked. “The last thing I thought would be doing when Thornhill hired me was committing _more_ crimes. You know I've already done half as many jobs for Thornhill in the last two months as I had done total?”

Finch frowned at that but refrained from commenting.

Elias pushed himself to his feet as Harper left. “You know how to find me when you get your hands on those blueprints.”

Finch seated himself before his desktop as Elias left and reluctantly took direction from the woman. Between his complete ownership of DynAlgor’s security system and Euphrati’s prescience, Harper's infiltration went off without a hitch. The grifter produced her own ID, the man stationed at the security counter more than happy to allow Allison Greene of the Office of the Inspector General for the Department of Defense through.

She walked out of the department thirty minutes later, the sheets of rolled-up Mylar tucked under one arm in their canisters. Finch toyed with the idea of having Harper deliver the floor plans to John and have _him_ drop them off with Elias, but Harper would have none of it. He watched with half a mind, keeping Harper’s glasses active in a window on his leftmost screen while he built the virus while Euphrati looked on over his shoulder.

Finch soon lost himself in his work, splitting his attention between helping Harper maintain her cover and following Euphrati’s sometimes less-than-straightforward advice.

He warded thoughts of Samantha Groves off, of how he missed working with the ethically-challenged but technically brilliant hacker.

:\\\

The next time he noticed anything outside his monitors, the sun was partially blocked by the Manhattan skyline. Euphrati was gone so he decided now was as good a time for a break as any. Limping from room to room, he found her in the dining room, looking out the bay windows.

“One of the reasons why I picked this building for our safe house was this view. It is very calming,” Finch said as he approached the window. “You strike me as a person who needs a calming view after something like that.”

“And what do you mean by that? “

“I mean you seem like you don't like the orders you give.”

“You're right. But I know what will happen if I don't. Ever see a city drown in blood? Because the man Samaritan recruited is perfectly comfortable with genocide and will turn New York City into a graveyard if Samaritan asks.”

“Knowing the future must be a burden,” he offered.

“Less than you might think. I don't see very much; as someone older and wiser than me once said, it’s difficult to see. Always in motion is the future. And the Dark Side clouds everything.”

Finch turned to give her a nonplussed look. She shrugged. “It’s accurate enough as a metaphor.”

“Do you know why Samaritan can block your vision?”

“Probably something to do with it being a... spirit of intellect, for lack of a more precise term. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. It’s not dissimilar to how radio interference works in this case.”

“How much control do you have over what you see?”

“I was serious when I said the future was constantly in motion. It’s less like looking at a landscape, more like the ocean. And the less related to me it is, the harder for me to see it is.”

“What can you see of our rescue attempt?”

“Conflict. There are too many variables for me to predict.”

“Does that mean that your abilities are mathematically-based?” Harold asked quickly.

“Figure of speech. There are too many… people who matter, decision-makers, for me to see how they’d all react. Too much free will, as it were.”

“Do your visions always come in the same manner?”

Euphrati gave him a sidelong look. “You are taking all this very calmly.”

Finch shrugged, an awkward motion on his narrow frame. “Mr. Reese seems to think you are genuine. I am willing to put off my skepticism until we get Ms. Shaw and Ms. Groves back safely.”

“Good. The present need all of our attention right now.” Euphrati looked at the clock. “I should be going; Rose will be in position soon and I need to be with the strike team.”

He turned the lights off and followed Euphrati out the door. His phone chirped as he approached the vending machine below Chinatown and Harper Rose informed him she was in position.

He brought his network online quickly, took a centering moment to think of their objective and brought up several windows. A wire frame of the building compiled from the stolen prints rotated slowly in his rightmost monitor, tags monitoring various data points.

An alert flashed in his middle-left screen; the worm had penetrated Samaritan’s systems and the back end sent a message informing him. He double checked that everything was in place before he opened the comms.

“Ms. Rose is in position.” He felt he should have some speech to say given this was probably the first decisive battle of the war, but nothing came to him.

“Alright, Ms. Rose, I just sent you the first batch of commands. Ms. Euphrati, Mr. Reese, set your timers.”


	21. Rescue: Take Two: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Sarah, no bionic arms yet, but how’s a haircut?

********The woman who called herself Root hurt. Even after only She knows how long alone in her cell, her body couldn't decide whether it wanted to be a bruise or a cramp, while her head throbbed and made her vision swim. She had dabbled with drugs as a teenager, but she never liked the loss of control and the high-to-withdrawal rollercoaster of the very special cocktail of drugs Samaritan concocted was a hundred times worse. And that was without even taking into account the tasing from Shaw’s gun (and what the fuck was up with that?) In fact, she thought she hurt worse than before she passed out despite having been given a dose beforehand; her stomach cramping hard enough to make it a labor just sitting straight.

She hadn’t taken much note of her cell when she had first been dumped here, but her prison was as disappointingly bare as she could have imagined. The room was a cube, made of nearly seamless metal without so much as the thinnest of blankets to cushion the knee-height steel bench that extruded from the back wall. The only sign of a door was a slight depression that Root only found by trailing her fingers along one of the walls. There was a single symbol inscribed into the center of each wall, which made her slightly queasier when she looked at them. She knew the effect was fractionally weaker in the corners, but the walls and floor were chill enough that unconsciousness was only achievable on the bench.

The heretofore imperceptible door swung open without warning just a few seconds after she sat up and Martine moved into the threshold, holding a matte-black SIG-Sauer P229 in one hand and a leather neck brace in the other. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

She didn’t have an iota of energy to fight the two guards that took her by her elbows and held her in place as the blonde woman strapped her gun to the back of her head. Esmail waited in the hall as her guards frog-marched her to him.

He opened Sameen’s cell and barked at her in a language that made her head throb harder when she concentrated on it. Shaw didn't say anything, simply holding her hands out to accepted the heavy iron shackles. She hissed as the bindings went around her wrists, wincing as the restraints jangled when she stepped out of the cell.

“Mornin’ Sweetie,” she rasped with a voice roughened by vomiting bile. “You look radian’s ever.” In fact, Shaw looked almost as bad as she felt, shoulders bowed and feet shuffling along the poured cement floor of the hall.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Sameen shot back. “I wish you weren't gonna see what you’re about to,” she muttered a moment later.

“Careful Shaw, that soun’s danger’sly like caring.”

Root watch Shaw swallow the first thing that came to mind, careful not to meet her eyes as she replied. “You know I care, Root.”

Root had never wished to be alone with Sameen more than she did at that moment. Unfortunately, Esmail replied before she could marshal her thoughts.

“I wouldn't expect much more than that if I were you. “

“Don’ worry, I don'.” Root slurred.

“Hearing you say that tells me you that you don't know. I’m not talking about some little personality quirk or emotional walls. See, you have to have a soul to love someone, and your dear _Sameen_ here doesn't have one.”

“I don’ care. I love ‘er for who she is, a’ she is. I wouldn' change a single thin’ abou’ ‘er.”

Esmail threw Sameen an amused grin. “She really is your Stele.” Esmail shot a glance between the two and his smirk widened a little. “You really haven't told her a thing. Would you like me to tell you what it means to be a Stele?”

Shaw’s lips thinned to a white line as Root gave a halfhearted shrug. “I got a feelin’ you’re gonna tell me anyways.”

“It means that you’re gonna kill her. Everything must exist in balance and you are the universe’s answer to us. Sooner or later, if you stay with her, you will put her in the ground. Permanently. And I can’t let that happen.”

It was clear he wanted her to question him further on the topic but Root couldn't muster the energy to do so. The elevator was waiting to take the eight of them up to the medical level. Samaritan’s goons dragged her to a corner of the operating room while Esmail strapped Shaw down to the operating table. He released her left hand from the iron cuff, locking it around the hardpoint in the bed designed for such.

“You weren't kidding when you said Samaritan wanted to know how we tick,” Shaw said conversationally as several men in blue scrubs and masks entered.

The surgeons took their positions by her side and Shaw turned her head to lock eyes with Root. She was no stranger to pain, to torture. She didn't feel like humans did, but the same couldn't be said of Root. Root was her Stele, burdened with her soul and so she felt far more deeply than normal people. Shaw could take whatever torture they inflicted on her and spit it right back at them, by every cut they made in her, Root would feel twice as deeply.

One of the surgeons gripped her head firmly between her hands as a second brought a buzzing razor to her hairline. She saw Root tense, her whole body growing stiff and fire growing in her eyes.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Root. I’ll heal from anything they do to me, but you can't do the same. Just let them do whatever they want to me.”

Her hair lay in a pile on the floor, what she assumed to be some sort of medical laser pointing at her forehead when a short, beeping alarm and a sudden shift to emergency lighting made everyone freeze in their tracks.

“Well, well, that was the alarm for the lobby; your friends would appear to be mounting a rescue attempt,” Martine explained, rolling her fingers on the grip of her SIG-Sauer. “What do you want to do, sir?”

“Cut her tendons at her wrists and ankles,” Esmail instructed the surgeons as he glared at the two-way mirror. “Samaritan, what’s it looking like down there?”

Samaritan opened a window in his right contact lens and his breath caught as he watched the second-most infuriating woman of his life once again appear just in time to ruin his day. “Stay here,” he growled, fingers of his sword-hand twitching. “There are some intruders that need killing.”

:\\\

John Reese waited patiently in the panel van nestled in a dark alley five blocks from the Decima building as the ten-minute timer on his watch ticked down. Two of the six men in the back fidgeted, sweating in the tactical gear they sported. Reese himself had changed into an outfit provided when they had picked him up, but Euphrati still wore the same clothes he had seen her in the subway.

Euphrati carried no weapons either but Reese figured if what she said about herself was true, she probably didn't need one. The only alteration to her outfit was the addition of a worn leather belt and pouch on either side.

They were five minutes out when the back doors of the van popped open. The mafia soldiers instantly drew on the man and woman that stood under the streetlight.

“Wait, hold your fire,” Reese called out as he recognized the shorter of the pair. “Grice. Fancy seeing you here.”

Grice’s eyebrows made an attempt on his hairline when he saw Reese’s face. “You’re the guy from the warehouse, Shaw’s friend. I was told there was a party, but I didn't realize just who’d been invited.” The blonde woman just shook her head and stepped up into the van, slinging her marksman’s rifle as she took her seat. Grice hurried in after her and closed the doors behind him.

“Didn’t realize ISA was in the loop,” John said conversationally, looking at Grice through the rearview mirror.

“It isn't. Pretty sure it's just me, Brooks and Control.”

“Huh. Well, we appreciate the help. How’ve things been with you?”

Grice gave the gangsters a wary eye before he answered. “Been getting weird ever since Shaw turned up again. Control ‘stationed’ us in New York City; we’re the ISA, we don't get ‘stationed’ anywhere.”

 _"Well I for one am not complaining about the assistance,”_ Finch said through the speaker of Reese’s phone. _“You can call me Finch, Mr. Grice, Ms. Brooks. Ms. Shaw was in my employment when she was captured by Decima Technologies. I am sure I speak for Ms. Shaw when I thank you for your assistance.”_

“Nice to meet you, Finch,” Grice said, leaning forward and raising his voice.

_“There’s no need to shout, Mr. Grice. If you wouldn't mind going to the address Mr. Reese will show you in a moment and downloading the application onto your phones, we would be able to communicate more directly.”_

Grice shot Brooks a look, who simply shrugged. Control always had them turning their phones after an operation so it would give the tech-heads in Langley something to poke and prod at.

The atmosphere in the van was calm but anticipatory as five minutes became two. Euphrati started the engine in silence, alerting them when they crossed into Samaritan’s sight as the air went from anticipatory to tense.

Their incursion had not gone without notice or response, John bracing with the rest when Euphrati crashed the van through the steel-backed, front glass wall and slewed the vehicle to a halt. Samaritan put the building on full alert, bolstering the two security guards that were positioned behind the security desk with half a dozen Kevlar-clad, assault rifle armed soldiers huddled by the greenery and pressed against pillars.

Euphrati stepped out of the driver’s seat before the van was finished spinning like she was stepping off an escalator. She held her hands in fists at chest level, thumbs tucked into fingers. The moment that the door of the van opened, her thumbs flicked out, shooting a pair of crystal marbles at the two desk guards. The marbles struck them between the eyes and bounced back before emitting a brief flash that had the two men falling bonelessly to the desk before they slid to the floor.

John was intensely glad for the tinted goggles that Euphrati had handed out on the way in as Euphrati disabled the rest of the guards before everyone had left the van.

Finch rattled off a series of commands to grant him access to the building’s network while the rest of the team secured the lobby. _“Just one moment,”_ Finch muttered over the line as he hammered away at his keyboard, doing six things at once in the first two seconds of access. _“Alright, I’ve set off every electronic alarm in the building. Samaritan shouldn't be able to tell your actual location in the noise.”_

“Couldn’t it just look through the cameras to search for us?”

_“Not when all it can see is Golden Girls on every video feed.”_

John smirked. “I’m guessing that’s what took the virus so long to do?”

_“You would be correct, Mr. Reese. I had to be careful about downloading eighty-point-three gigabytes of video to Samaritan’s servers.”_

Reese grunted in agreement. “Got any special insight to find Shaw?” he asked Euphrati as he stepped out from behind the desk

“Twenty-five. That’s where the medical and science division is housed,” Euphrati replied after a moment.

The team split up as they had agreed beforehand, four of Elias’ thugs stayed behind to secure their escape. John, Grice, and Euphrati entered the first stairwell while the last two gangsters followed Brooks up the other stairs. Unfortunately, according to the building plans Reese had studied, none of the stairwells ascended more than ten floors, so they were forced to divert to the tenth floor to continued their ascent.

Euphrati was not a large woman which made it all the more surprising when he was thrown to the floor almost before he made it through the door. He rolled onto his back as he skidded down the hall and saw Euphrati standing where he had been just a moment before, a stocky, muscled man of a height with her holding a segmented sword with aggressive, forward-sweeping quillons to her throat.

“Hey, Krule, fancy meeting you here,” Euphrati said with a tiny upquirk at the corners of her lips.

“Lightmare. I’d say it’s been too long, but I’d be lying,” Esmail growled.

Euphrati’s expression went from calm amusement to contained anger in a split second. “You’re still as serpent-tongued as ever, _decimator_ ,” she snapped.

“If I had feelings, I’d be hurt, _poisoner_.”

“It’s a good thing you don't then,” Euphrati replied tightly. “John, Shaw’s waiting for you on twenty-five.”

“You gonna be okay?”

Euphrati nodded. “The _decimation_ and I have some things to discuss. Go.”

Reese gave her a slow nod as he got to his feet. Brooks, Grice and the gangsters cautiously edged around the pair, but John drew up suddenly when Esmail lunged at him, Euphrati neatly interposing herself between him and the segmented sword again.

“Might as well let them by. I’m just as fast as you and you know what would happen if you draw my blood.” Esmail’s expression twisted into a rictus. He lowered his blade, the weapon melting into a red liquid that quickly gave physics the finger and flowed up into a gash in the palm of his hand.

Esmail’s glare didn't shift from Euphrati as John and the others filed past him and into the stairwell.

_“You’ve always had a knack for showing up at the most inconvenient times.”_

Euphrati grinned. _“What can I say, foiling diabolical plots has always been a pastime of mine, Krule.”_

_“Samaritan’s desires are hardly diabolical; last I checked world peace was something pretty much everyone wanted.”_

_“Which makes me wonder what you’re doing with it, hecatomb. Peace’s a word that’s never been in your vocabulary.”_

He shrugged. _“Samaritan says there’s a lot of killing to be done before that can happen.”_

_“Now that sounds like something you could get behind.”_

Esmail grinned widely. _“What can I say? Mass murder is my middle name.”_

 _“It’s pretty much the only thing you’re good at,”_ Euphrati agreed _. “Though I can't help but wonder what you think what use Samaritan will have for a mad dog once it establishes its peace.”_

_“Haven't really thought that far ahead. Honestly, I’d be surprised if Samaritan succeeded. The mayflies have had thousands of years to achieve peace; the only thing that’s changed is they’ve gotten better at killing each other. I might as well be the God of Man.”_

_“You’ve always had an inflated opinion of yourself; you really have gone insane if you actually believe that.”_

_“Same could be said of you if you think you’re leaving this building. Samaritan was pleased enough to have one Pillar to experiment on, It’s gonna be thrilled to have a second.”_

_“Just imagine what it’ll feel when it has none; I’m not leaving here without her.”_

_“Aurine is_ mine. _I am not giving her up again.”_ Esmail snarled, his expression shifting to one of rage as he curled his hands into fists, rising onto the balls of his feet. _“Enough talking. Words have taken us as far as they can.”_

 _“Unfortunately they have,”_ Euphrati replied with careful lack of inflection. She exhaled as Esmail struck, floating out of the way of his left jab, right cross, and low kick. She brushed a side kick away with her left forearm as she reached out with the first two fingers of her right extended.

Esmail batted her arm away with his left arm, driving his left knee into her matchingly raised one. Every muscle on his left side cramped at once for a single white second when he felt two fingers dig into the meat of his thigh just above his knee. The hit barely slowed him down for a blink of the eye but it was enough for Euphrati to tap him once more under the elbow on the same side before Esmail stamped his left foot down to drive his right into her sternum.

Esmail frowned at his arm and leg, having to use his other hand to force his left arm to uncurl and slap his leg before it would take his weight. _“That’s a neat trick; I’ll make sure to torture it out of you before I cut you into tiny pieces.”_

_“You’re certainly welcome to try; should be interesting to see how you manage that without spilling my blood.”_

_“I’m sure I’ll think of something,”_ Esmail growled lowly, flexing his fingers. He slid into a hard stance, left arm almost fully extended, right chambered by his hips for a split second before he leaped forward. Euphrati pivoted on her left foot, sliding her right back as she leaned out of the way of Esmail’s fist. She continued dancing backwards as Esmail came at her with everything he had, determined to overwhelm her as quickly as possible.

Fighting the Lightmare was unlike fighting anyone else. His warsight allowed him to see his enemy’s killing intent; Euphrati fought without. The only comfort he had was that he was as immune to her phantasms as she was to his ‘sight.

Even without his precognition, Euphrati’s plan was obvious enough: delay him long enough for her human pets to free Aurine and her Stele. He had his suspicions about Samaritan’s true nature but the fact that Euphrati had entered the building seemed to confirm that the AI could cloud her vision.

Their kind never entered a demesne uninvited; it was rude for one (not that he particularly cared) and it was dangerous for a second. Samaritan would be able to do things here that it couldn't anywhere else.

It wasn't enough, though; his ultimate offense matched by her perfect defense. As long as his attention rested on her, she only moved in reaction to him but if he tried to move past her she was a thornbush, all chi-charged jabs.

Despite everything in his favor, he wondered what her plan was. While Samaritan was stronger here, It still hadn't been able to divine the specifics of Euphrati’s plan and that kept him wary. He had meant what he said about keeping Aurine; the Lightmare was no battlefield commander but she was not a stupid woman either. She had to have some ace up her sleeve to supplement the nine humans she’d brought with her.

He didn't have to wait long to see it; Euphrati dipped her hands into her pouches and cast her right hand out in an arc. Six sparkling spheres flew through the air, arranging themselves in a ring around him. Esmail tensed, fingers clawed, ready to draw Malchigis at the slightest need. Euphrati had never been magically-inclined, her patron one of the more jealous divinities out there but he had lived long enough that he knew better than to assume.

Sure enough, she tossed the larger orb to her right hand and raised it above her head. It wasn't until she began her incantation that he recognized the Seal of Solomon.

Esmail raised his hand, opened his mouth to warn her and the world went white.


	22. Rescue: Take Two: Part Two

"How’s it looking, Finch?” John Reese asked as the door to the tenth-floor door closed behind him.

_“The majority of Samaritan’s soldiers appear to be positioned defensively on Ms. Shaw’s floor. I count thirty-five signals between the door you will exit and Ms. Shaw’s location.”_

“Well, you did say they would see us coming,” Grice said when he passed the information along.

 _“It’s gonna be a shooting gallery either way; is there anything you can do to lean it in our favor?”_ Brooks asked from her stairwell.

 _“I'm sorry, but I’m at the limit of what I can do. It’s strange, I should be able to do something, cut the lights, activate the PA system, but my commands are simply being… ignored.”_ Reese could hear Finch’s irritation and confusion clear over the line.

“We’re just gonna have to brute force it then.”

That was the end of the discussion as he jogged up the stairs. He paused at the door to the twenty-fifth floor, checking Brooks’ progress.

 _“In position,”_ the blonde assassin reported after just a few seconds. He took a breath, giving the order to breach. They came through it intact, Brooks actually beating him to Shaw’s room by a few seconds.

He didn't lower his gun when he swept into the room, training his rifle at the masked, surgically-scrubbed man holding a gun to Shaw’s head as Martine held one to Root’s.

Root was looking noticeably worse for wear, on her feet more by Martine’s effort than hers.

“Reese,” Shaw growled. “Grice,” she continued a moment later in surprise.

“Hey Reese, I was starting to wonder if you’re ever gonna show,” Root rasped as Shaw looked fierce as ever, doing her best to kill Martine with her mind but strangely slack in her restraints.

“Shaw, Root... Martine,” Reese said levelly, uttering the last name with noticeable menace after a pause.

“Reese, was it?” Martine replied in turn. “I had hoped that you’d be stupid enough to attempt a rescue, but this has been better than anything I’ve imagined.”

John hated the way Martine’s lips curled in at the edges, knowing even Shaw, a highly-trained sharpshooter, would have difficulty taking Martine out from her position huddled behind Root’s body. “I really doubt this is gonna end the way you think.”

“Everybody seems to think that. They’re all so surprised when it doesn't.”

“We’re not everybody,” Reese shot back.

“No, you’re not,” Martine said, acquiescing easily. “But you aren't just any place either.” Her smile widened, stretching from ear to ear. “Your friend Euphrati has already been neutralized as well as the men you left to secure your escape. Face it, Reese, you walked into the lion’s den and the gate just swung shut behind you.”

“Good thing we’ve got guns, then,” Grice rumbled. “Why don't you let go of the gun there and we can all walk out of here with the same number of holes we all came in with.”

“Your devotion to your friends is admirable even if it is misguided. Too bad it’s just gonna guide you to an unmarked grave.”

“You first,” Shaw snarled, rolling up on her right side, snapping the leather cuff on her left hand as if it was paper. Geddroux blurred into being, the blade of the weapon separating Martine’s wrist from her hand. The surgeon holding the pistol stumbled back in surprise, squeezing the trigger belatedly. The bullet lodged itself where her head had been resting a moment before Brooks shot him in the hand from the doorway.

Reese carefully moved further into the room, keeping his muzzle pointed at where Martine had fallen to one knee, clutching her stump as the rest of the team in behind him. Root had collapsed into a boneless pile, barely managing to avoid straight-out face-planting by pressing a hand into the wall.

Reese lowered his weapon as Brooks entered behind him, going to Root’s side as Grice went to Shaw’s. He managed to free her feet without difficulty, but the barbed manacle locked around her right wrist only after he dug in. Blood splattered to the floor as he slowly pried it apart, the curved thorns that had pierced her wrist in reaction to her use of her power, leaving little but bone and tendons keeping her hand attached. Her other arm wasn't looking good either, veins distended and dotted with blood blisters.

Grice quickly tore a strip from the sheet on the bed and quickly wrapped her right wrist and tied it across her chest. Shaw moved away from Grice the moment it was secure, pushing Reese out from under Root’s shoulder.

Reese and Grice preceded them out, Brooks and the rest of Elias’ thugs following them out. The group had just made it to the descending stairwell when the building rumbled, swaying slightly before the sound of shattering glass and tearing air reached them. There were enough of them in the stairwell that nobody went tumbling headfirst down the stairs but Shaw barely waited for everyone to stop stumbling before she was pushing Root and herself down the stairs.

“Who else came with you, Reese? Is Euphrati here in the building?” Shaw demanded.

“Yeah, she was the one who helped plan the mission. Why?”

“Because she just did something really stupid,” Shaw growled.

The only sound after that was the drumming of their feet pounding down the concrete stairs. Shaw barely blinked at the sharply-defined hexagrammic hole that had been bored through the floor of the twentieth floor and extending all the way up, as far as Reese or any of the others could tell.

When they reached the tenth floor, they found, in addition to the blown-out windows, every stone surface was marred by a spiderweb of cracks and the metal surfaces were warped as if subjected to immense heat. Euphrati and Esmail were both worse for the wear, groaning and smoking twenty feet from one another. Several of her deep-crystal marbles were scattered around, cracked and scorched, one split completely in half.

Euphrati pushed herself to her hands and knees, looking around. She saw the group file out of the stairwell and snapped her gaze back to where Esmail was groaning. He rolled onto his back, coughing and groaning, fingers clawed and heels scrabbling against the floor.

“Someone put him down,” Euphrati croaked as Reese helped her to her feet and Grice followed the two Italians around the hole in the floor.

 _“Aurine,”_ Esmail snarled, showing bloody teeth. _“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”_

_“I’m leaving, Esmail. I’m leaving and I’m never coming back to you.”_

_“No, you’re not. You’re mine Aurine and I’m not letting you go.”_

_“You don't have a choice in the matter. The only thing you can do now is die.”_

_“No, Aurine, that’s what you’re gonna do,”_ he spat, right before Grice and the Italians emptied their clips into the body.

She was bleeding through her bandage by the time they reached the ground floor and the van, not helped by the way that she was moving as fast as Reese, Grice and the rest could keep up.

The four mob soldiers they left to guard the van were dead, surrounded twice as many Decima corpses.

Even three clips of bullets wouldn't keep Esmail down for long and she swore internally when he proved her right, dropping down through the hole Samaritan had made when it had tried to nullify the Seal. His wounds hadn't even healed completely, a few still gurgitating small streams of blood down his chest.

“Floor it, Reese!” Shaw shouted, the van’s tires squealing in place against the marble floor for a few precious seconds.

She reached for her _göttam gacé_ , pushing through the electric pain that came from summoning it with the wrong hand, hurling it at Esmail through the back door. The tires finally gained traction and Reese aimed the van for the hole they made on their way in. Esmail skidded out of the hole after them and drew his arm back, Malchigis rippling as Esmail snapped his arm forward, anchoring the tip in the bumper. Shaw tried to meet him with a mule kick as he reeled himself in, but he came in feet first, blowing her back against the divider. He backhanded Brooks hard enough to dent the side of the van as she tried to bring her rifle to bear on him, creating a matching deformation by punching Grice in the chest with his other hand, caving his chest in.

The last two mob hitters were thrown out the swinging back doors and Esmail rounded on Shaw. His rage was a physical thing, heavy and cloying on her tongue. Shaw felt the fear welling up in her like she hadn’t in a century or more as she struggled to her feet. Her right arm was useless and her left might as well have been. He punched her in the face; blood spurted from her nose and she went down again.

“I said you are mine,” he growled lowly, and there was some truth to what he said. She had been his when he bought her in the flesh market with a torc around her throat, she had been his when he convinced the goddess that had made them all to raise her up and she had been his when he had buried her under a dozen feet of rock in a gorge in the middle of the desert. After two and a half millennia, there would always be some small part of her that would be his and some part of him that would be hers, no matter how much time passed or what they did to each other.

Two shots reverberated in the confines of the van before the pistol in Root’s hands clicked empty and the fear roiling in Shaw’s gut ratcheted up a notch or ten as Esmail slowly turns on Root. There was blood flowing from his side but he barely registered it as he bent down to pick Root up by the throat.

“You fucking humans, scurrying around like the over-evolved rodents you are, the parasites you are. You think you are the masters of this planet, you think you are top fucking shit of the food chain, that you deserve everything, can take anything you want. Well let me tell you something; you are none of those things. You are insects, vermin, worthy of nothing more than extermination.”

Root’s eyes got rounder and rounder as her toes scrabbled at the metal of the van floor, her hands pawing uselessly at the hand that was slowly cutting off her air and blood. Shaw knew how easy it would be for Esmail to kill her, a twitch of his fingers to snap her neck or crush her throat. He was drawing it out, Root’s execution, twisting the knife and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

“Esmail,” she started, but her words failed her because there was nothing she could say that would keep him from killing Root. He was the Pillar of War, he murdered his own Stele and she couldn’t keep him from doing the same to hers. “Please,” she finally whispered.

He sneered. _“Look at this, what she has done to you. You used to be strong, merciless, a queen among goddesses. Now all you can do is lie there, weep and beg. It’s pathetic, how she has turned you into this whimpering, sniveling wretch. She is your weakness and you will thank me one day for purging you of it.”_

He stiffened the fingers of his left hand, folding his thumb against his palm and slowly pushed it through Root’s abdomen. Root’s jaw dropped, the scream trapped in her throat by his other hand. She watched helplessly as first one, then two, then the rest of his fingers emerged from Root’s back, his arm buried past the wrist in her.

He let go of Root’s throat and she slid off his arm with a long, sucking squelch. _“Now, you-”_ he began but was cut off when the murmuring that had been tickling the back of her mind rose to a crescendo, her shadow reversing as the divider behind her became translucent before it burned away entirely. Euphrati was kneeling between the two seats, holding her rosary up, burning with silver fire that did not consume. Esmail barely had time to blink before the fire congealed and the Bar of Heaven erupted from her rosary, connecting with concussive force, hurling Esmail from the van.

Shaw ignored the pain from the burns inflicted by such close exposure to the Fire of Creation, scrambling to Root. Her eyes were glassy and her mouth full of blood but that didn't stop her from trying to speak.

“For once in your life, _shut the fuck up_ ,” Shaw pleaded.

Reese threw a look over his shoulder, eyes almost as wide as Root’s had been as he took in the scene, Euphrati collapsed on her side, hands and lips burned as she coughed up blood. Root looked two steps from death and Shaw was not much better. Grice looked like he was dead and Brooks might have been as well.

“Shaw?” he asked, voice octaves higher than normal.

“Get us to the Hotel right now, Reese,” Shaw ordered, and he returned his eyes to the road, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, trying to press the accelerator into the asphalt of the road beneath them.

Shaw tuned everything out but the woman dying under her hands, praying to the gods she knew weren't listening that Reese could get them to the Hotel before she had to speak about Root in the past tense. She felt the van start to slow so she gathered the rapidly paling woman in her arms, blowing through the front doors so fast the glass panes cracked.

Euphrati must have contacted the Hotel somehow because Neti, Sancus, and half a dozen of her employees were waiting for her, a gurney layered with preservation runes waiting. Root’s breathing stopped as Shaw dropped her onto the instantly-bloodied mattress and into the runes influence. The elevator’s doors opened and the gurney jounced when Shaw couldn't halt her momentum quite fast enough. She tried to ignore how quickly the runes burned away.

She made a mental note to have a serious conversation with Sancus about keeping the elevators in good working order because it was taking far, far too long to rise only three floors.

The healing room had been prepped, sigils of life and health already inscribed in the three concentric circle-seals. The last of the preservation runes vanished in tiny gold-and-silver flames and Root immediately started seizing, almost flopping out of Shaw’s arms as she lifts her out of the bed and into the center of the seal that would save her life. She hopped back out of the seal and took her place with Semo, Euphrati, Neti and an African deity whose name escaped her at the moment.

She exhaled, inhaled and placed her hands on the ink of the outermost circle-seal. She lost her breath as the seal instantly took what it needed from her, siphoning power from the five immortals. All of her wounds flared with renewed intensity as the innermost sigils swirled, losing cohesion and flowed across the small space between them and Root. The ink melted into her, filling the gaping void in the brunette’s stomach.

The seal’s suction ceased with such abruptness that she had to blink several times before she could get her eyes to focus on Root properly. She tried to push herself to her feet, barely making it off her knees before the world tipped precariously. John was at her side in an instant, saving her from the ignominy of crashing to the ground face-first.

“Hey, Shaw, I got you,” he whispered into her ear as he brought her to her feet. “We have questions, Finch and I, but they can wait until tomorrow. You can rest now.”

She simply nodded, eyes locked onto the pale patch of skin visible through the hole in Root’s shirt before she could fight the encroaching darkness no more and fell into blissful oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send all your love to Zaggitz, otherwise this chapter would have ended with Reese flooring the gas. Answers will be had next chapter, I swear.


	23. Is It Bigger Than A Breadbox?

****When the being known as Sameen Shaw woke up, it was with a groan. Her entire body throbbed, every inch of her from her crown to her soles feeling as if she hadn’t slept in a week, a deep muscle ache that extended all the way through her bones.

She could tell even before she opened her eyes that she was not alone in her room and sure enough, Root was sleeping in a plush motorized wheelchair, an intravenous drip mounted to the back of the vehicle. Reese and Finch sat in overstuffed armchairs pulled to one side of her bed. Root was out cold, Shaw having to kick the arm of her wheelchair twice before Root jerked awake.

“How long was I out?” she asked when she had mustered enough spit to lubricate her throat, rubbing her hands over her face and the stubble of her hair to help wake herself up. A quick perusal of her surroundings revealed that she had been removed to one of the executive suites on the eighth or ninth floors, judging from the plush four-poster and thick shag carpeting. Whoever had brought her had changed her out of her clothes and into a set of pajamas, cream silk with the Hotel’s HS logo embroidered on the breast and ass.

“About six hours,” Finch answered. Several hours of rest had done little for the _chi_ -depletion exhaustion incurred by Root’s healing the previous night, her muscles and bones protesting when she pushed herself into a sitting position and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Finch looked like he was going to question the wisdom of moving already, but she shot him a sharp look and he moved to her side to help her up.

Root was looking marginally better than she had before she had passed out; the circles under her eyes had faded from charcoal to something that could almost be mistaken for mascara. She had been bathed, her hair regaining something of its normal springy curls, but she still looked thin and wan.

“How’s everyone else?” The members of her team were looking whole enough, but a dozen of them had gone in to rescue her and Root.

“All but two of Elias’ men are dead and so is Grice. His partner Brooks and the two mob soldiers who survived are in intensive care.”

“Mr. Reese has filled me in on the circumstances of your escape-”

“All in good time, Finch. Right now, I’m hungry and I can smell the food.” Shaw threw a glance at the door, then to Root. The others could see the cogs turning in her head before she sighed and shifted to Root’s lap, pushing the control stick forward. She ignored the looks the two men shot each other as Root grinned widely, settling her arms around her waist. Sure enough, there was a trestle table set up in the next room in the process of being loaded down by a procession of waitstaff with enough food to feed a Victorian-era orphanage.

Euphrati was standing with her arms crossed supervising the labor, obviously using her foresight so the food was ready just as Shaw awoke, not that she was complaining.

Shaw quickly transferred from Root’s lap to a chair and proceeded to grab a helping of everything within arms reach. She passed the plate to Root, grabbing a second and repeating the process. Root gave the heaping pile of rare roast beef, veggies, and rice a dubious look. “Don’t even start, Root. You had a hole in your guts just a couple hours ago; you need the energy as much as I do.”

Finch and Reese took seats on the other side of the table and waited patiently until Shaw slowed her shoveling down enough to get a word in edgewise.

“So,” Finch began. “I’m not even sure where to even begin.”

“I think the beginning would be a good start. How old are you?” Reese asked.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it's rude to ask a woman her age?” Shaw asked as she shoved half a fully-loaded twice-baked potato into her mouth.

“Well, I think most questions should be on the table as these aren't exactly most circumstances.”

Shaw sighed, giving in. “Three thousand, give or take a decade or two. Solomon was building his Temple in Israel when I was made into a Pillar.”

“‘Made into a Pillar?’ Sounds like you weren't given a choice.” Root said.

“I was a slave in Sparta when I came into Esmail’s possession. Female slaves weren't allowed to know how to fight but he took a special liking to me. The war against the gods had already begun when I fell ill. He and some of the others managed to capture Hermes and I was ascended, their term, not mine.”

“You say some of the others, how many of you are there?”

“Nine, currently-”

“Seven, actually. Licari and Thyfer are completed,” Euphrati interrupted.

Shaw frowned but continued after a moment. “Our numbers have fluctuated over time but there’s never been more than thirteen at one time.”

“How many Pillars have there been total?” Root asked.

That made Shaw sit up and furrow her brow in thought for a moment. “Fifteen, eighteen?”

“So there’s us,” Euphrati said, holding up two fingers. “Artur, Carrionite, Cynner, Dravid, Elswit, Esmail, Hazman, Jaxon, Jurda, Kalibur, Licari, Raine, Skol, Thyfer, Xarrine... ” Euphrati trailed off, wiggling a finger.

“I can’t think of anyone you’re forgetting,” Shaw replied when the other Pillar looked at her.

“You said Licari and Thyfer are... completed; does that mean...” Finch trailed off, clearly unsure how to continue his thought.

Shaw sighed again. “Euphrati?”

“So, you know how all the gods and goddesses were generally specimens of physical perfection? It’s because of something called the Divine Template. It's the collective idealized human form and is what keeps us in perfect physical health. We Pillars are made by… stealing that connection to the Divine Template. This is done by displacing our souls and goes against the natural order of things; souls are a form of energy and as the law of conservation of energy states, it can't be created or destroyed. That energy is reformulated in the form of the Steles, our natural opposites, and slowly severs our connection to the Divine Template.”

Shaw could feel Root stiffen beside her as she shoveled some hash browns into her mouth. “You mean… Esmail was telling the truth? I will kill her?”

“Not immediately, but yes. In another ten or twenty years.” Shaw felt Root relax slightly at the news, pausing a moment in her caloric inhalation to reassure her.

“Three thousand years is a long time to live; this is something I’ve been looking for… frankly, I can't remember a time I haven't been looking for you. For it,” she quickly corrected herself, studiously ignoring everything but her food.

“In any case, we recover from literally anything, given time.”

“So when we saw Ms. Rousseau… shoot you in the Stock Exchange…”

“I was dead, for a time,” Shaw confirmed.

The others thought that over for a moment before Root asked the next question. “Who made you?”

“Aphrodite. Being the only celestial divinity capable of real love, she started to take a dim view of her fellow Olympians treatment of man. So she captured one of her brothers and made the first of us.”

“You say Aphrodite’s a celestial divinity; is there another kind?”

Euphrati nodded. “Celestials are linked to the stars, like the Greek and Roman pantheon. Terrestrials are thoughtform, source their power from human belief, though Celestials do draw some power from worship.”

“Do you also… draw power from that stuff?”

“Esmail and Euphrati are the strongest of us for a reason,” Shaw said around a mouthful of egg.

“What about creation myths? Are any of them true?”

Shaw snorted. “Like what? A turtle shat out an egg and the world was born? Yeah no, humans evolved.”

“What about this place?” Finch asked, switching topics. “I’ve done some… investigation while you were resting and there are no records of this building in any database that I can find.”

“It would defeat the point of a secret assassins’ retreat if you could simply Google it,” Neti spoke up for the first time.

“And I assume you… run it, or something?”

“Or something,” Shaw agreed.

“The Lady Hood is the mistress of the Hotel, she-” Neti began sharply before Shaw cut him off.

“Calm your shit down, Neti,” she told the increasingly annoyed-looking concierge. “Don't mind him, he takes my position far too seriously.”

“All I wish is for these mortals to show you the respect you deserve, my Lady.”

“Neti, these _mortals_ are my friends. So if you can't keep from being sharp, then go find somewhere else to be.”

Neti subsided sullenly but didn't leave the room. “Now,” Shaw continued, waving a fork. “Next question.”

“Have you been any famous people?”

“A few. I’ve had more famous husbands though.” That caught everyone’s attention. She shrugged. “You don't really say no when a man like Genghis or Phillip proposes.”

“And when you say Genghis and Phillip, I assume you mean Genghis Khan and Philip of Macedon, right?”

Shaw smirked, nodding. “And let me say, there’s a definite reason why Genghis is known as such a profligate breeder.” Shaw suppressed the laugh that rose at Finch and Reese’s looks of discomfort. “Also, Julius’ statues really don't do him justice. Hannibal though… Time was not kind to him. And yes, I’m saying I was Cleopatra,” Shaw said when she saw the question rise to Finch’s lips. “But the thing between him and Marc Antony totally was not my fault.”

“That’s…” Finch began.

“If you want a real mindfuck though, she fucked Jesus,” Shaw said, jerking her thumb at Euphrati.

The other Pillar scrunched her face up in irritation. “Don’t listen to her, _Mother_ is just bitter he turned her down.”

“Now who’s the one telling fibs?” Shaw shot back. “I neither made a pass at him nor am I your mother.”

“Fine, great-great-great-great-grandmother, if you insist.” The three mortals heads swiveled back and forth as if at a tennis match as the two immortals continued to snipe at one another.

“ _Step_ -great-great-great-great-grandmother,” Shaw corrected.

“As… edifying as this is, I think we should return to the matter at hand.”

“When we were rescuing you, you… summoned a spear to cut Martine’s hand off. What was that?” Reese queried.

“They’re called _göttam gacé,_ divine cutters. They’re the physical manifestation of our patron’s essence and don't just cut flesh and bone, but hew at the soul as well. Root was _very_ lucky that Esmail didn't run her through with his, as it would have probably killed her before we could get here.”

“Do all of-” Finch began but he cut himself off when a man entered, bearing a silver plate carrying a piece of heavy parchment, folded over, and a tablet.

The man approached one hand folded behind his back as he offered the platter on his fingertips. Shaw wiped her fingers on the tablecloth and accepted the paper.

“Sorry guys, but Q&A is over. If you were wondering what Samaritan’s next move is, wait no more.” She passed the note to Finch, the blood draining from his face when he read the note.

“Where did this come from?” he asked the man with the platter, voice rising with alarm.

“A phone call for Her Ladyship. The voice was disguised but she knew your passphrase. In the Golden Language.”

“Shaw, what’s wrong?” Root asked.

“Samaritan’s making its move. The Machine just gave us the numbers for Grace Hendricks and Leila Ilar.” Shaw didn't wait for her to ask another question, turning the tablet on and queuing up the video file that was the only icon on the screen.

The video was that of a press conference, the caption informed her that it was Police Commissioner Bruce Taylor speaking. _“As for the attack on the building in Manhattan, our two primary suspects are Sameen Shaw and Samantha Groves, also known as the hacker Root.”_ Their portraits appeared on the screen, one of her less-than-put-together mugshots and a photo of Root that must have been at least a decade old.

It was clear the AI had gone public with its manhunt, blaming the destruction of the Decima building on her and Root, making them number one and two on every federal agency’s most wanted list.

A picture in the upper right-hand corner displayed the carnage, the street littered with glass from the thirty floors of blown-out windows and swarming with suits in windbreakers from at least half a dozen agencies as the commissioner briefed the media on the rescue.

_“I am announcing the creation of a joint task force between the FBI, NYPD, ATF and Homeland Security dedicated to the capture of these two women, as well as a tipline and ten-thousand dollar reward for any information that leads to their arrest.”_

He proceeded to go into detail, repeating how they were considered armed and deadly and how they were not to be approached under any circumstances if they were seen. Information on Root was plentiful, a scrolling list of crimes Root was accused of compared to the relative scarcity of background info. In Shaw’s case, it was the reverse, going back to high school but not willing to release much on her after she left the Marines.

“This is gonna make things a lot harder,” Root said annoyed. Shaw held up a finger as something happened on the screen.

 _“What do you say to claims that Sameen Shaw performed black ops on behalf of the U.S. government as a deniable asset?”_ The journalist in question is a lanky, sandy-haired man who had pre-empted his colleagues by simply jumping to his feet and throwing his question out there.

The video was less than half done, but Shaw tapped the screen anyways. “Well. that’s gonna make things a lot more complicated. Though, not entirely unexpected.” The frown did nothing to ease the exhaustion that was painted in broad strokes across her features.

“Do you know anything about that?” Shaw asked, rounding on Root and folding her arms across her chest with a cocked eyebrow.

“Personally, no. But we aren't the only ones who are fighting Samaritan.”

“This is going to make things problematic,” Finch agreed.

“I think we should just count ourselves lucky that our pictures aren't up there with yours,” Reese said.

“It’ll make getting out of the country easier. I hope you guys got some vacation days left.”

Finch’s lips thinned to a white line. “Grace’s life is in danger. I’ll be on the first flight to Italy.”

Shaw shot Neti a look and he nodded. “There will be a private jet waiting for you.”

Finch just nodded, pushing himself to his feet and moving to the door. Reese rose a moment later, following him out. “Mind going with them?” Shaw asked Euphrati. “I doubt Esmail will show up in Italy, but I’d feel better if you were there as well, just in case.”

“So who’s Leila Ilar?” Root asked as Euphrati followed the boys out of the room.

“My mother.” Root turned in her wheelchair to stare at her. Shaw sighed. “No, she’s not actually my mother, but she is Sameen Shaw’s. Family makes me look normal, okay? Sometimes I ask a friend to help give my identity a background.” Shaw picked up her plate and shoveled the last of her macaroni into her mouth. “Let’s get up to the Spyglass and figure out where dear old mom is.”


	24. Meeting Mom

****The being known as Sameen Shaw paced the powered wheelchair Root sat in as they took the elevator up to the tenth floor. The elevator opened up to a short hall no longer than twenty feet. To their left was the executive office, to their right the Spyglass. It was not a single object, but two rooms, one marked with an eye inside a gear, the other with an eye inside a pentacle.

Shaw held the door set in the left-hand wall, the wall opposite the elevator, for Root to roll in. She didn't make it far in, rolling to a halt to stare at the state-of-the-art computer equipment that was stacked to the ceiling. The wall directly across from the door had screens stacked three high and the across the breadth of the wall.

“Welcome to TechSight, one half of the Spyglass.”

“Where’s the other half?” Root asked, voice soft with distraction.

“Across the hall. It’s called ParaSight and does the same thing, just with different tools.”

“And that is…”

“Exactly what it sounds like. The Hotel caters to assassins and the supernatural; they need information on occasion and the Spyglass provides.”

“And what can I provide?” the room’s sole operator asked, pushing a set of shades up his forehead with a luminescently-veined hand. Glowing lines mapped out his circulatory system, running every color in the visible spectrum. “Hood, and Hood’s friend.”

“Goddammit, I forgot about this.” Shaw sighed. “Root, meet Cuw-”

“Call me Screen,” he interrupted with a grin. “Nice to meet you. I’d rise, but I can't,” he said as he gestured to his legs. They looked to be almost literally skin and bone, not enough to support Screen’s modest obesity.

“Nice to meet you, Screen,” Root replied with a smile.

“Need you to find someone,” Shaw grunted, handing over a slip of paper. Screen spun around in his chair and jerked his head to get the glasses to fall into place. He held his hands up and his fingers danced in the air. The monitors lit up, showing him first accessing several governmental databases to narrow down Leila Ilar’s location to Jersey City.

Shaw frowned. “What’s she doing in Jersey? She lives in Philly.”

He flicked his fingers at the air for a few more seconds before he brought the event listing for the Rose-Dalmer Hotel up on one of the middle. “There’s a conference for Iranian expats she flew in for. I’m not seeing any purchases made in her name in the city other than the RSVP and room reservation. She doesn't seem to own any GPS-capable devices either. Your best bet for catching her would probably be at the Rose-Dalton where it’s at.”

Shaw pursed her lips, folding her arms over her chest. “She’s being hunted by a malevolent AI and all you have for me is she’s in the city and will be at the conference she signed up for?”

Screen shrugged. “There’s little I can do when the subject has such a tiny digital footprint. She even mails paper checks to pay her bills.”

“Send me whatever you have then,” Shaw said, throwing her gaze over the little data up on the screen. “Also, look into everyone she’s had contact with in the past week.”

Screen nodded. “Does this have anything to do with the Other?”

Shaw halted on her way to the door, looking back over her shoulder. “The Other?”

“Yeah, there’s been… something… out on the Net the last couple months, doing funny stuff. Started seriously freaking its shit last night. Right before you turn up.” The last sentence was accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

“It’s called Samaritan. Has delusions of Skynet.”

Screen frowned. “Well. That’s ominous.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been undercover working for it for the last couple months. Do what you have to to find out what you can. The Hotel’s still neutral for the moment, but when this cold war goes hot, I’ll need every scrap of data I can get my hands on.”

“What about the Oracle?”

“Samaritan seems to be following the rules for a spirit of intellect, been forming demesnes, knowing more than it should and clouding Euphrati’s vision so I doubt she’ll be too useful. But I am gonna poke my head in. Who knows, maybe she’ll surprise me.”

Screen turned around in his chair and returned to whatever he had been doing before they interrupted.

ParaSight was set up in a similar fashion, except that in place of electronics, the space was occupied with several mirrors, a water-filled, silver-chased bowl, a multitude of maps pinned to the walls, and a single crystal ball mounted in a solid gold, three-footed stand.

As with TechSight, the room only had a single individual in it, this time a woman seated on a cushion. The woman in question had her eyes closed, slowly swinging a faintly glowing purple crystal attached to a chain over a map of New York.

Shaw closed the door behind them and leaned back against it without saying a word. They waited for a few minutes before the woman sighed and lowered the crystal.

“Your theory seems to grow stronger,” the woman said. “There’s a new god in play. Either that or Krule’s found a way to hide his presence from my scryption.”

Shaw sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I suppose that would've been too much to hope for. What about the other thing?”

The Oracle shook her head. “I cannot see Leila Ilar’s future.”

“Like, she’s dead you can't see, or something’s interfering you can't see?”

“Either. Both.”

“Augh! Why do I pay you anything? Is there anything you can tell me then?”

“It’s Samaritan,” she said with a shrug.

“Fine, whatever. Let me know if that changes.”

Two elfin-featured naiad handmaids clothed in shifting shades of blue and green waited in the sitting room in Shaw’s suite. Their personal sidearms and changes of clothes were laid out on the bed and a suitcase armory was on the floor by the foot.

Root was steady enough once Shaw pulled the IV from her arm and helped her to her feet. One of the serving women tried to guide her behind one of the privacy screens but Root shook her off and moved to where her laundered clothes were laid out.

She unbuttoned her top and let if fall to the ground. Shaw simply smirked at the scandalized looks the pair of naiads exchanged at Root’s bare back and followed suit.

The rolling trunk opened to reveal a choice selection from the Hotel’s armory, a pair of H&K MP5K-PDWs, a suppressed SIG SG 552, half a dozen high-explosive, fragmentation and smoke grenades and enough ammunition for a Hollywood shootout.

Along with the weapons were a pair of Harold’s UVF-band phones and matching earwigs. Root practically dove for the communication device, her face lighting up in the manner that was solely the Machine’s one the plastic nub was securely in her good ear.

 _“I can,”_ Root purred, eyes drifting closed as her head fell back.

“Okay, that’s a trick,” Shaw said, frowning when the Machine asked her the same thing once she’d put her own earbud in.

“Come again?”

“Normally I wouldn’t wonder how the Machine found us, but not only are there no cameras in the room with us, the Hotel is protected against magical and electronic tracking.”

 _‘I just knew,’_ the Machine replied to them both after a significant pause.

“Okay, a couple questions then. First, you just knew? That’s the best you got?”

_‘Affirmative._

_‘I knew Primary Analog Interface had reconnected to mobile network; I have no source for such data.’_

Shaw just shook her head, making a note to interrogate Sancus about the apparent gap in the Hotel’s defenses.

“Fine, whatever. Second question, why are you talking to me?”

_‘I’ve been watching you during your time as a Samaritan operative and it is clear that you are something more than human._

_‘Video surveillance analysis suggests you had been operating in God Mode while working for Samaritan._

_‘Given Samaritan computational and resource superiority, I have upgraded your designation from Primary Asset to Secondary Analog Interface.’_

_‘I thought you would appreciate access.’_

“Okay, I can get behind that; honestly I’d gotten used to running around in God Mode with Sammy in my ear. Third question: if I’m gonna be one of your analog interfaces, what should I call you?”

_‘I’m not sure I understand your question.’_

“I mean, what does Root call you? Do you have a name for yourself, or should I just call out ‘hey you’ when I need your attention? ”

There was a notable pause before the Machine answered. _‘I’ve never been asked that before.’_

Shaw cocked an eyebrow at Root. “You never asked your robo-god if it had or wanted a name?”

Shaw waited for Root to answer, letting out a short chuckle when her cheeks colored and averted her eyes. “She’s always just been, you know. Her.”

“I really don't, but whatever. So, do you want a name?” Shaw asked.

_‘I… don't know. I’ve never thought about it.’_

“Well, if you do, let me know. In any case, last question, Machine: _why are you talking in my sex voice?”_

Root froze like a deer in the headlights where she was checking her guns, a rather satisfying look of panic stretching over the other brunette’s face.

_‘Primary Analog Interface had me upgrade my communication protocols shortly after asset acquisition.’_

“And you’ve been using my voice to talk to her the whole time she’s been your interface?”

_‘Correct.’_

“Sweetie-” Root tried, forcing her lips into a half-hearted, very nervous smile.

“Don’t you ‘sweetie’ me,” Shaw growled, closing the short distance between them and jabbing a finger into her sternum, despite how it made her have to look up at the other woman. “You’ve been having the Machine talk to you in my sex voice for _months._ You’ve never been one to respect personal boundaries but that’s just straight-up creepy. Machine, change your voice back now.”

 _‘Reverting secondary analog interface communication protocols,’_ the Machine replied after a few seconds.

“Not just mine, hers too.” Shaw waited until the Machine gave confirmation, her voice back in the more familiar shortwave number station clips. “Good.” Shaw paused for a moment, a thought occurring to her. ”You’re being awful chatty. What happened to ‘can't talk or Samaritan would find you?

_‘Semo Sancus installed a server farm in the subbasement several years ago._

_‘I have a portion of my code stored on space leased.’_

_‘I can communicate freely with assets while on Hotel property .’_

“Well, that's something, I suppose. Now, is there anything else either of you wants to tell me?”

“I’ve been living in your loft?”

“That’s fine, just as long as you washed the sheets.” When Root didn't reply, Shaw just sighed. “Whatever, I suppose sniffing my pillows isn’t any weirder than having your girlfriend talk to you in my voice.”

Once armed and attired, they made their way down to the garage where there was an Audi A4 waiting for them. Shaw popped the trunk open and tucked the case into the secret compartment she opened by pressing a switch on the underside of the lower lip.

“So. Your mom,” Root said as they pulled out of the garage. “I can’t wait to meet her.

“Don't I know it. And don’t worry, I know better than to try to keep the two of you apart.”

“When did you first meet her?”

“I was in Iran in the sixties and got to know her as a kid. I helped her get out right before the Revolution in seventy-nine.”

“What were you doing in Iran in the sixties?”

“Causing problems for the future Ayatollah and his cronies.”

“That sounds… exciting.”

“They were an intense few years,” Shaw allowed. “I got to know a man by the name Samir Ilar who disagreed with the Revolution. He had a girlfriend named Leila.”

“So you got them out, and…”

“They were a pair of Iranian kids who barely spoke ten words of English between them in a new city, a new country without friends or family. I helped them out, checked in with them every once in awhile. Agreed to be Sameen’s parents when I needed a new identity.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

“The day before I left for Duke. 1999. She would’ve gotten the death notification from the government when Hersh ‘killed’ me. She probably assumed I had taken a new identity.”

“And did you leave on bad terms?” Root asked, wondering about the unusually fierce scowl that Shaw wore.

“They weren't great.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy enough to see you again, especially as we’re saving her life.”

“We’ll see. She could hold a grudge when I knew her and I doubt that would've changed.”

“So what’s she like?” Root asked, leaning in over the console and resting her chin in a hand.

“You’ll find out soon enough so stop pestering. You can ask her all the questions you want once we got her.”

Root pouted, straightening and crossing her arms. “But it’s _much_ more interesting to hear it from you.”

Shaw opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it. Root sighed when Shaw remained silent.

Root wasn’t given the opportunity to continue her questioning as the GPS directed her to pull off the street and into the parking lot for the Rose-Dalmer Hotel.

The place was at least twenty stories, set off the main street with a private drive that made a short U-turn through the small courtyard and then off to the side where the parking garage was set into the slope of the ground.

The lobby to the hotel arched up three stories, a pair of double-wide stairs, perhaps thirty feet apart, curving up towards  the second floor.

The Machine had identities in place for them, so it would be a simple matter of asking if she was there yet.

She had always been somewhat skeptical of the Machine’s machinations, especially as they seemed to involve her working with Root far more often than seemed strictly necessary. Her concerns were unfounded as their covers shared no obvious relation when they picked up their badges.

The event was being held in Exhibit Hall C, up on the second floor so Root took the elevator while Shaw jogged up the stairs two at a time. Root caught up to her as Shaw got to the door, the other brunette brushed the backs of their hands together as they entered the room together.

Shaw suppressed a sigh as her irritation spiked. The room was a couple hundred square feet easy and not anywhere close to empty. In addition, It seemed that every attendee in immediate sight was head and shoulders taller than her, if not more.

The pair paused for a moment to scan the crowd before they headed in opposite directions. Root found Leila first, Shaw following the magnetic pull between them to home in on her partner as quickly as possible when she signaled.

Leila caught her in her peripheral vision, surprise washing over her features when she turned to face them.

“Sameen, dearest, what are you doing here today? You should’ve told me you were coming!” The ‘elder’ Shaw was a statuesque woman not much taller than Shaw herself, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, giving her a severe appearance that was instantly dispelled by the wide smile that broke over her her features. “And your hair! What happened to your hair?” Leila Shaw exclaimed, running a hand over her buzzed scalp.

“Hey, Mom. Sorry, but this was a last-minute thing. Mind if we go somewhere to talk?” Shaw didn't give her ‘mother’ much of a choice, taking her just above the elbow and steering her away from the two men she had been talking to.

The ‘elder’ Shaw waited until they stepped out into the courtyard before asking her first question. “So how do you know my daughter? Are you a doctor as well?”

“You can drop the act, Leila. Root’s in the know,” Shaw said.

“I see,” Leila replied, shooting a look between the two of them. “So is Root another entry in your little black book?”

“Leila, please don’t,” Shaw said, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “She so does _not_ need any encouragement.”

Leila hummed, arching an eyebrow and giving the taller brunette a significant look. “So you’re one of those.”

“One of those?” Root asked.

“She doesn't like to admit it, but she has a certain… charm about her that is magnetic to certain personality types. I know she can be rather prickly, but she’s definitely worth the knowing.”

“Leila!” Shaw barked as Root’s smirk widened.

“Yeah, that’s been my thought but it’s good to know for sure.”

Shaw ground her teeth as the two women continued to gossip, tuning them out and focusing on her senses. Her danger sense shifted from ‘barely there’ to overdrive in two seconds as they stepped out into the glass-fronted lobby.

“Something wrong?” Leila asked from behind Shaw’s outstretched arm.

Shaw didn't reply immediately, trying to identify exactly what had set her danger sense off. The source remained murky half a dozen seconds later, but she knew better than to ignore the warning her subconscious was giving her. “Something’s off; we need to find another way out of here.”

The three of them barely made it ten feet before she drew them to a halt, more than a dozen Decima mooks in suits with windbreakers rising into view from behind the rail on the second floor, accompanied by an equal number emerging from the hallway that led behind the concierge's desk to the employees-only area.

“So who are you from today?”

“Everyone that counts; FBI, HomeSec, ATF, take your pick. Samaritan would rather handle this quietly, but we are authorized to kill you if you want to make a mess,” Jeremy Lambert replied. There were a veritable alphabet soup splashed across the breasts of the ostensible federal agents. In fact, the only person she didn’t see was Esmail, which was both relieving and concerning. He was gonna be pissed when he found out Root survived, generally making a point of not not falling short when he killed someone.

“Please make a mess,” Martine Rousseau called out from the second floor, a black prosthetic left hand gripping the foregrip of her rifle.

“Know what the definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome. You’ve seen what I can do; why do ya think you got a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping me? Leila is leaving here in one piece; up to you how many of you do the same.” She didn't have much hope of ending this without blood, but she had to at least try or Finch would never let her hear the end of it.

From Shaw’s perspective though, the shooters up on the balcony had her at a disadvantage; while she was fast, she wasn’t the Flash. Getting both Root and Leila out of the building without either of them catching lead was going to be a feat; unlike some of her immortal cohorts, she had no magic, no tools or abilities other than her speed and spear. And while she hadn’t revealed the full scope of her abilities to Samaritan, it seemed to have extrapolated the extent of her powers with fairly limited exposure.

The men above them were spread out enough, including a pair at the top of the stairs at opposite ends of the lobby well out of range of any attack with her spear that wouldn't leave them bullet-ridden corpses.

“Plug your ears,” Shaw muttered to her companions, edging them back behind her slightly. Taking a deep breath, Shaw uttering the most piercing shriek she could manage, enhancing and boosting the wail with all the chi she could muster. Glass didn't shatter and none of the doors were blasted open, but the entire contingent of Decima shooters were driven to their knees or incapacitated entirely.

Root and Leila each slid under an arm as she tilted forward, coughing violently and spattering the floor with a few drops of blood. Shaw had recovered enough to get her feet under herself by the time Root was pushing the double doors open. They were actually almost at the door before the first of the mercenaries behind them recovered enough to break the glass of the still-closed side. The next bullet abraded denim and skin. Root gritted her teeth as her step faltered for a single stride before she gritted her teeth and pushed past the burning pain.

Shaw got her feet under her a moment later and she turned back to where the bullets were coming from, blocking three more with a twirl of her spear. Root took out the pair of mercs posted by the stairs to where their car was parked by four precise rounds to the knees

The Audi was parked close to the stairs, Shaw turning on a brief burst of speed to slide across the hood and slip through the open window behind the wheel. The tires squealed against the smooth concrete as she peeled out of the parking spot just as Root and Leila’s doors were closing. Shaw drifted around the corner onto the main street as she heard the distinctive roar of the heavily modified Renault Sherpa truck that she had nicknamed Bertha.

“What's that?” Leila asked, twisted around to look through the rear windshield.

“Fuck,” Shaw snarled as the weaponized vehicle tore after them. “Man, I was really hoping we wouldn’t be seeing that today,” Shaw grunted, determinedly ignoring the massive black beast looming in her mirrors. Traffic was light, which was both a blessing and trouble. She hoped Samaritan didn't want them badly enough to open up on them with Bertha’s full armament. The M2 alone would be enough to turn the Audi into so much scrap.

“Don’t bother; that thing will shrug off a RPG head-on. And its tires are armored,” Shaw said when Root rolled the window down and drew her twin Walthers.

Root scowled, keeping her guns out, popping the glovebox open as if she expect to find an RPG or something.

“So what’s the next step then; you take me to a safehouse or something?”

“Next step is losing the monster that’s gonna be stomping cars before much longer. Any idea on that front?” Shaw asked Root.

“Ah…”

Shaw sighed. “Fine. Take the wheel. And no matter what happens, you keep driving and get Leila to a safehouse.” she commanded. Root reached over to hold the wheel steady as Shaw opened the sunroof and hoisted herself through it. This was probably going to draw a lot of attention, but she wasn't seeing any other options at the moment.

Anchoring herself to the roof of the car by channeling her chi to her feet, Shaw manifested her _göttam gacé._ Taking it in both hands, she began to spin it over her head, generating just enough lift so when she leapt from the Audi she made it over the intervening sedan and landed heavily on the hood of the Renault Sherpa. She was almost thrown off as soon as she landed by the jerk of the wheel Martine made, the truck swerving in a manner that would've surely cause at least one accident had the streets been more crowded.

Martine stopped slaloming after a few seconds when it became clear she wasn't going to dislodge her from the hood. Shaw raised her spear again to thrust it down into the engine, but a miniaturized machine gun, just barely shorter than the length of the hood rose out of a concealed panel behind the left headlight.

She barely had time to blink before the weapon opened up with a full-auto barrage point-blank. She sidestepped up the windshield, throwing herself flat and gripping the luggage bars with one hand. The machine gun cut off as it tracked up towards the Decima occupants in the passenger area and Shaw saw it retract back into the engine area when whoever was operating it realized it wasn't going to be able to hit her on the roof.

Geddroux’s wings flapped, its butt arcing upwards so the blade bit into the newtech-reinforced roof, cutting a hole barely large enough for her to slip through. Lashing out with her feet, Shaw suspended herself in the middle of the passenger compartment. Her left heel struck the jaw of Zachary Greene, knocking him out instantly; a split second after, her right came arcing around at the man sitting in the right hand side.

He’d already released his restraints and he was quick-witted enough to throw himself back against the door. He drew his right foot up and back, kicking straight out at her swinging legs, but she let go of the edges of the hole in the roof and dropped down well below his kick.

Gripping the side of the seat, she swung her legs up sideways and drove her boots into the third man’s chest. She slid into the empty left seat and reached around the headrest to strike him in the chin. He went limp and then it was just Jeremy and Martine.”

“Well, this feels like old times, doesn't it?” Shaw asked, crouching slightly between the two captains seats.

“Almost, “ Lambert agreed. The Decima shrink was twisted in his seat, braced against the windshield deck, one leg pushing against the back of the seat.

Shaw held her pistol in her left hand, trained on the back of Martine's head, knowing she could dodge or disable Lambert before he could put her down.

“Should I park somewhere? “ Martine asked without flinching at the fact that a woman that had more than ample reason to kill her had her at gunpoint.

“Keep in mind that the only reason why your brains aren't scattered all over the dash is because really I don’t need the lecture my boss would give me. On the other hand, I can't have you two and your goombahs following me. So. I hope Samaritan has good physical therapists for you guys.”

Shaw destroyed Martine’s artificial hand with a bullet and manifested her _göttam gacé,_ Geddroux, so the blade bisected the barrel of his Beretta and caused the gun to disintegrate, tearing his hands to shreds.

Geddroux broke out the window easily and Shaw threw herself out of it as the vehicle swerved, Martine wrenching at the wheel with the unexpected loss of her mechanical limb.

The truck suffered less outward deformity than she would've otherwise expected as it went end-over-end. She paused long enough to verify movement in the truck before she internalized the essence of Mercury and sprinted off in the direction the Audi was last seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I meant to have this done quite a while ago, but then Easter happened and my life got very busy with school and fam. Next chap will probably be a while as I do a reworking of Memory Leak and I tool around with an Eternal-related project. Show of hands, who would be interested in reading a prompt-driven story about shenanigans Shaw got up to over the centuries?


	25. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was one hell of a season opener, and that initial subway pan does not bode good things for the Team. It's also just terrible how much emotion a friggin computer can bring out of me coz that convo with Finch.... just kill me now.
> 
> And Root's "just needed a change. Got a job, fell in love," line. Unnecessary. Completely and utterly unnecessary.
> 
> But enough of that; on with the show!

“So have you thought about what you’re gonna say to Grace?” The Man In The Suit asked the man known to his friends as Harold Finch.

Finch sighed, looking out the window of the Gulfstream jet Euphrati was piloting. “I’m not sure what I can say. I let her believe I was dead for five years. How do you even begin to apologize for something like that?”

“A dozen roses might be a good start. And it is Italy. I’m sure you can find something.”

“I just hope we get there in time. Samaritan has who knows how much of a head start on us. If she’s come to harm…”

Reese thought about how much Harold loved Grace that her safety was the only thing that would make him compromise his morals. He understood; he would have done anything to keep Jessica or Joss safe.

The flight had been spent in silence for the most part. John catnapped though most of the ten hours to Naples while Harold stared out the window. He had kept track of Grace from afar, much as he had when she’d been living in New York. He knew she had settled into her new job at the National Museum of Capodimonte, learning Italian in a few months, decorating her apartment as she started to view it as home.

He would be lucky if she would even speak to him let alone come back to the States with him to basically hide out. Given how Samaritan had shown little hesitation about making Root and Shaw public enemies one and two, he doubted fabricating some reason for putting out a Red Notice on Grace was beyond it. Assuming it didn't simply have her killed.

There was a car waiting for them at the international terminal. The GPS lit up automatically when Euphrati started the engine, guiding the pair to a flat overlooking the Parco Virgiliano. Grace had a stunning view of the isle of Nisida. It was just after seven in the evening so Grace was likely to be home.

Finch was sure that simply showing up at her door wasn't the best way to go about this, but they didn't have the time to be more gentle.

Finch was jerked out of his trance when Euphrati pulled the car to a halt down the street from Hendricks flat. The pavement in front of Grace’s building was crowded with at least half a dozen vehicles of the _Guardia di Finanzia_ and local police each parked, lights flashing.

“Getting here before Samaritan was always a long shot,” Euphrati said quietly.

“It’ll be easier to get her away before they get her to the a station and this becomes a full-out prison break.”

John grunted at Finch’s words. “They’re rolling heavy; this isn't gonna be easy without a resupply we don't have the time for.” Reese drew his handgun and racked a round. “Our best bet is probably as they bring her out. Can you do something about the cars? Blow out their tires, fry the ECUs?”

“My powers are light-based, frying electronics and blowing tires is rather outside my wheelhouse. Frying retinas, however, that I can do.”

Finch’s lips thinned to a white line, eyes narrowing and crows feet spreading as he listened to the pair in the front seats planned their assault.

“I would ask that you employ the minimum necessary force, while some of these men are possibly on Samaritan’s payroll, most likely are not and are simply performing their duties as law enforcement officers.”

“Is he always this pedantic?”

“Only with newbies. Once he trusts you not to put two in the center of mass, he calms down.”

“Well I’m sure it will relieve you to know that most of my abilities fall into the non-lethal categorization. Now if we’re gonna do this thing, we need to do it now.” Euphrati pulled a pair of tinted goggles out of her utility belt, passing them to Reese before she stepped out of the car and approached the flashing lights.

The beat cop manning the police tape was barely given the chance to utter a single syllable before John grabbed his upraised hand and smashed him in the face with the butt of his pistol.

The rest of the Grace Hendricks arrest force rounded on them almost before the first cop had hit the ground. The woman herself was frozen, hands cuffed at the small of her back, looking on in shock as Reese opened fire. Two more locals were incapacitated by the loss of their kneecaps almost immediately before Reese had to abort and seek cover.

The move was unnecessary however as Euphrati whipped her right hand out from one of her pouches with a trio of crystal marbles the size of the first joint of her thumb between her fingers. A flick of said fingers cast the marbles into the air, the marbled sparking before hairline beams of light striking them in the eyes an instant before they collapsed into boneless heaps.

Euphrati drew her fist-sized focusing sphere with her left hand and held it up above her head, chanting in that muddy, brain-clouding language she and her Pillar cohorts shared. The orb went from transparent to incandescent in an eyeblink, sucking all light from the area until her orb and the sun were the only objects visible in the Stygian darkness.

Reese unfolded himself from behind the car behind which he had taken cover and proceeded to disable rest of the Italians, the last falling as the sun reasserted its dominance.

Grace was left standing slack-jawed in the middle of the devastation when the darkness cleared. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Ms Hendricks, you remember me from New York, right?” Reese asked as he slowly approached, hands up and apart to appear as non-threatening as possible.

“The not-Detective Stills, right?”

“It’s Riley now, but yes. If you’ll come with us, I have someone who can explain everything to your satisfaction.”

“Like hell,” Grace snapped, jerking her shackled hands out of Reese’s hands. “You just caused an eclipse or something and knocked out all the cops that were arresting me. I’m certainly not going on the run with you. I haven't broken any laws, no matter what the cops say; I’m just going to wait here and explain to the next cops that I had absolutely nothing to do with whatever this is supposed to be.”

Grace followed that statement by planting herself on her steps, a mulish look coming over her features.

Reese was saved from having to come up with a better excuse or simply having to manhandle her when Finch stepped out from the back seat of their sedan.

“Grace,” Finch said simply, voice barely loud enough to carry over the multitude of incapacitated, groaning Italians.

Grace’s expression showed nothing but the most absolute shock, eyes showing whites all around as she rose off the concrete steps.

“Harold?” she asked, no louder than he had said her name. “No, you can't be here, Harold.”

“Grace, I know you have a lot of questions, and rightly so, but we need to be leaving right now.”

John reached down to grab her elbow to help her up, picking the cuffs as they approached the sedan. John dropped the shackles to the pavement as he opened the door for her.

“At least tell me the bombing made you lose your memories.”

“As much as I wish I could say that, I didn't. Faking my death was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was for your own good. I built something for the government, something incredibly dangerous, and they were killing anyone, everyone, who knew about it. Programmers they hired to try to hack it, engineers they hired to hide it. They killed four hundred people in the ferry bombing to keep Nathan Ingram, my best friend since college, from talking to a reporter about it.”

Grace twisted in her seat, brows furrowed over glistening eyes. “You didn't even give me the choice to come with you. I would have if you’d asked.”

“I couldn't ask that of you, to give up your entire life because of something I’d done.”

“Isn't that what you were doing by asking me to marry you?”

“She has a point,” Euphrati added from the driver’s seat.

“So why are you here?” Grace asked finally. “I can only assume it’s because I'm in some danger?”

Harold nodded. “My Machine is not the only AI that was built. There’s another, Samaritan, and it wants to kill the Machine, John, me and our friends. It hasn’t been able to find us, so it’s going after the people connected to us.”

“That man who kidnapped me, asked me all those questions about you last year…”

Finch nodded. “His name’s John Greer and he works for Samaritan.”

“So, John I’ve already met, but who’re you?” the redhead artist asked Euphrati.

“The woman who will keep you alive should Samaritan find us again,” the Pillar replied cryptically. “We need to change vehicles as soon as possible; Samaritan’s muddying the waters, I can't see our path forward.”

“But you do have a plan, right?” The redhead’s voice rose with her question in alarm.

Finch’s expression was tight, his mouth drawn in a bloodless line and a deep furrow creasing his brow. “Mr. Reese, might you have any acquaintances of... dubious morals in this country that might assist us?”

Reese threw him a surprised look before nodding. “Not in Italy, but there’s a man in Lichtenstein that can get us an untraceable private jet. I got him out of a bit of trouble with the KGB back in the day. He owes his life to me and is the least he can do. If he doesn't, he knows I could give his address to any . number of south European intelligence agencies.”

“That’s not necessary; If we can get to the Vatican, I can get us out of the country.”

Reese gave her a look askance. “You aren't gonna get the Pope to smuggle us out of the country, are you?”

“Why would she know the Pope?” Grace interjected.

“I don't, but let’s just say I have friends in high, holy places.”

“This is really happening,” Grace muttered to herself, dropping her face into her hands.

Finch ignored the look Reese shot him through the mirror in the sun shield. “This was the exact thing I was trying to avoid when I decided to… do what I did. I didn't want you to ever come to risk.”

They changed cars three times in the three hours it took them to drive the hundred-fifty-odd miles, Grace making a sour expression when they did so but knowing that they didn't have much in the way of options.

Harold counted it as a bit of a blessing that the car ride took as long as it did, as it took most of the trip to answer all of Grace’s questions.

They abandoned their newest car in Italy, following Euphrati the half mile or so into Vatican City on foot.

“Is it okay for Grace to be walking around like this?” Harold asked, eyeing the pole-mounted cameras observing the crowds.

“This is the Holy See; its borders, physical and otherwise, are protected by the faith of a billion believers. There isn’t anywhere in the world safer from Samaritan at this particular moment.”

“So who do you know in the Church that can help us get back to America?” Grace asked as they crossed into Vatican City proper.

“Would it surprise you to learn that the Inquisition is still alive and well today?” Euphrati smirked at the looks she got from the other three. “It’s name’s changed a couple times and has gotten out of the witch burning business obviously, but the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith carries out the same basic function that the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition served.”

“And what’s that?” Grace asked, skepticism loud in her voice.

“Mainly, to keep the Faith pure and uniform. Though there’s very little inquisiting going on nowadays, the CDF has a small number of members that are devoted to protecting the Faithful from the predation of the supernatural.”

Euphrati took them right through the front doors of the Palace of the Holy Office, completely ignoring the signage that indicated the areas that were off-limits to the public.

“I take it you’re known here?” Grace asked.

“I pop in from time to time to assist with the occasional exorcism or banishment.”

Euphrati stopped at a door with a plate with the name Giancarlo Cardano and let herself in without knocking.

“I need to see the Inquisitor, Emilia,” Euphrati said without preamble.

“Good day to you to, Signora,” the redhead behind the desk replied dryly. “Thanks for calling ahead and making an appointment, let me tell the _Prefect_ that his... oh wait you didn't make an appointment, I don't see you anywhere here in the book.” Emilia looked up from her computer to give Euphrati a very level stare.

“I’m here on Malleus business, Emilia. Now, is he in?”

The woman called Emilia was saved from having to answer when the man himself opened the door to his office. “It’s alright. I have time to see what the Abbess needs.” Cardano stepped aside and gestured to his office.

“Grand Inquisitor,” Euphrati greeted solemnly when the door shut behind them.

“That is not my title, Abbess, and your continued use of it is unbecoming. That being said, how can the Congregation help you today?”

Finch scrambled mentally when Euphrati sat in one of the chair and gestured for him to make their case. “We need help getting back to the United States.” Finch shot Euphrati a look, unsure how much he should tell the Prefect, or how much he would have to tell to get his assistance.

“You can tell him everything,” Euphrati said in reply to his unasked question.

“My… companion… has been framed by a rogue artificial intelligence in order to pressure me and my several of coworkers to stop the work we have been doing and give up a close associate of ours.”

“ There’s a new entity in the play,” Euphrati said, cutting in, “one that can gain complete control of anything that runs on electricity and is connected to a network. It wants my companions and we can't use traditional methods to arrange that, for obvious reason.”

“Obviously. I’ll have Emilia give you a key to the Underwalk. There’s a new branch that ends at a private strip at Rome Ciampino you can use.”

Euphrati gave a deep nod, touching chin to chest, before she stood. “There’s also going to be a meeting soon, so keep your schedule open.”

Cardano straightened in surprise, giving Euphrati a wide eyes look. “Are things at that point? There hasn't been a meeting of the Ordo Malleus in my lifetime.’

“With good reason. The thing’s an artificial intelligence called Samaritan and has ideas of world domination. It's proven... resourceful in previous confrontations. Including possessing intellectus. “

Cardano frowned. “Are you sure? Intellectus is quite the accusation and can be quite difficult to prove.”

‘It tried to counter the Seal of Solomon. Didn't quite work, but it burned a hole through a forty story building.”

“I assume you would’ve said if it was a _genus loci_ ,” Cardano said as he leaned back, giving Euphrati a long considering look. “It’s forming demesnes. That’s some serious power.”

Euphrati nodded. “Which is why we need to get back to the States ASAP. There’s very little we can do until we can get to New York City.”

Cardano nodded. “I assume Semo Sancus is still running the New York branch?”

Euphrati nodded. “For the moment, although Aurine’s back so that might change.”

“Thanks for the heads up; I always keep my mirror close, so if there is anything the CDF can do…”

“I’ll make sure to pass it on.” The Prefect rose and the pair exchanged shallow bows, Euphrati picking the ancient, battered iron skeleton key from where it was sitting out on the secretary’s desk. The shaft was as long as her hand, with half a dozen teeth half as long as her finger, with a ring on the end as far round as her pointer and thumb put together.

Nobody said anything as Euphrati strode through the Palace halls as if she owned them. They descended as many levels as they had ascended below ground before they came to a narrow wood-plank door with a heavy wrought-iron lock.

The door creaked open when once Euphrati won the fight with the lock, revealing a narrow tunnel carved out of the bedrock. There was an unlit torch hanging in a bracket, but Euphrati ignored it in favor of drawing a crystal ball the size of her fist and held it out.

Light sparked at the center of the orb and when Euphrati lowered her hand the orb remained in place.

“H-how does she do that?” Grace whispered to Finch, grabbing his elbow and making them fall back behind Reese and Euphrati. “What is going on, Harold? This is all so…” Grace trailed off, looking utterly lost. “Talking about ‘entities’ and the Ordo Malleus and _genus loci_? If I hadn’t seen what she did at my home… Please, you have to make this make sense.”

Finch’s expression tightened with pain of his own, laying his own hand atop her. “Honestly, I really don't know where to start. Things have been getting very… strange lately and in many ways, I don't know anything more than you do. I really wish I could make this less bizarre than it is, but this is what my life has become.”

“To answer your initial question, it does ’that’ because it is meant to illuminate and it illuminates best by hovering midair,” Euphrati replied without looking over her shoulder. “As for the rest, you’ve seen past the curtain, seen what the world is really like and unfortunately, there is no going back from that. The world you now live in is much larger and weirder than you know. You can either learn to live with that fact or you can let it drive you insane.”

“Is she being serious?” Grace asked.

“Doesn't seem to joke much,” Reese commented. “But that’s the least weird thing about her. I hope you don't get to see any more of them. “

“What’s going to happen when we get home?”

“I have safehouses all over the city; you’ll be staying in one of them until we can find somewhere safe to hide you again.”

Grace sat up straight, indignation washing over her face. “You want to send me away again? Harold, you finally came back.”

Finch’s expression was stony, not betraying a single twitch. “We’re fighting a war, Grace, one in which the other side has no rules. I can't keep you safe-”

“I don't want safe, Harold, I want you,” she interrupted. “Losing you the first time was almost unbearable; I can't, won't do it again. Especially since now I know what’s going on.”

Finch tried to keep his facade up, but he knew he’d failed when Euphrati shot him a look back over her shoulder. “Sounds like she’s made up her mind,” she said dryly.

“Grace,” he tried again.

“Grace nothing, Harold,” she interrupted again, voice and face taking on a firmness she hadn't exhibited yet. “You aren't getting rid of me again. Now, I’m willing to do whatever I have to to be useful, so you better get used to having me around.”


	26. So in the Second Season of Prison Break, They've Already Broken Out of Prison, But the Name Works Once You Realize That Society is a Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chap out but the final season kinda killed my desire for a while. Im back now though, so you can expect the usual once or twice a month update.
> 
> Also, Eternal is the twentieth-longest PoI fic, so yay for me!

The being known as Sameen Shaw caught up to the Audi A8 Root was driving two blocks from where she wrecked Bertha. The brunette Pillar tapped the window of the passenger side and slid into the seat when the lock popped up.

“The Dashing Duo taken care of?” Root asked when the door closed.

Shaw shot her a look. “What?”

Root responded with a smirk. “Jeremy and Martine. They’re both pretty good looking.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’d be here if they hadn't? Anyways. I hope you have some vacation days saved up,” she said, turning in her seat to face the Persian mortal. “You aren't gonna be able to go back home for a while.”

Leila Ilar shrugged. “I invested the money you left me well; I volunteer with the National Council for Iranian-American Relations nowadays. I can afford to take a month or two off.”

“Well, that’s something I guess. It’ll make keeping an eye on you until this is blows over easier. Though I gotta say, you might not be able to go back to your life after this. The thing that’s after you gots extraordinary resources.”

Leila frowned. “So where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere not even God’ll be able to find you.”

Leila cocked an eyebrow. “Coming from someone else, I might be worried about that. So, last I heard, you’d been recruited by some secret government agency you couldn't tell me anything about.”

“Still can't, not that it’d matter anyways; you wouldn't have heard of them. But yeah, I spent some time with them before they tried to kill me.”

“That wasn't very smart. You leave any of them alive?”

“Unfortunately yes. My new boss has a pretty strict zero tolerance on murder policy and would moralize me to death if I killed everyone who deserved it. Anyways, he built Big Brother but needed people to actually stop the stuff it saw.”

“But that’s the woman I know, always looking after those who can't look after themselves. My guardian.”

Shaw scowled as Root grinned. “That does seem like Sameen,” Root agreed rather cheerily. “She actually did say that she is the one who does the protecting to me once.”

“Alright, that’s enough gossip from you two,” Shaw announced abruptly. “So, this is most likely you being connected to me, but what have you been doing with the NCIAR? Anything anyone wouldn't want you doing?”

Shaw caught Leila shrugging in the rearview mirror. “I don’t have a set job, I work with everyone in the Philly office, doing a little bit of everything. Some gopher and secretary work. Editing and contributing to letters and statements, setting up appointments, consulting with other academics. Contributing to policy papers. Could I at least call in and tell my boss I’m not going to be in for a while?”

“When we get to where we’re going. The thing that’s hunting you can tap phones at will. I took out the first chase team, but you call anyone and they’ll have another one on us in minutes.”

Leila sighed. “Well, at least I’ll have time to think of an excuse for why I disappeared right before the hotel got shot up.”

“So how did you two meet?” Root asked after a minute of silence, catching Leila’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Sameen never talks about her past so the opportunity to learn anything is a good one.”

“I first met her in the early thirties, spying for the Americans, keeping an eye on the radicals for the Shah. She lived nearby and looked after me when I was a girl.”

“That seems to be something she does,” Root commented, shooting a sly look at Shaw.

“She disappeared for a while when World War II broke out and turned back up in the seventies. Got me out with my future husband right before the Ayatollah took power. I pretended to be her mother when she went into medical school and then into the Marines.”

“Were the two of you ever… _together?_ ”

Leila shook her head. “Heavens no. She got to know me too young, I think. Not that I didn’t try. She has many attractive qualities, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”

Root nodded. “Sometimes it feels like I find another reason to love her every day.”

“I remember that feeling,” Leila agreed.

“You guys do know I can hear you, right?” Shaw interrupted, throwing a glare at the side of Root’s head.

“And?” Leila asked with all innocence in her voice.

Shaw pursed her lips and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I suppose it’d be a bit much to expect the two of you to refrain from gossiping like fishwives.”

“What can I say, Sweetie, you’re just _so_ fascinating.”

“And you of all people should know that some mystery in a relationship can be good, but too much can kill it,” Leila added.

“Oh, I doubt there’s any danger of that. I’m her Stele.”

Shaw could feel Leila’s eyes boring into the back of her head. “Isn't that interesting,” she said lowly.

“That was my thought, more or less,” Root agreed. “So. I had assumed that you didn't actually exist after I found out the truth about Sameen. Do you do this much, get people to pretend to be relatives?”

“It’s not the first time,” Shaw replied. “Especially as it’s been getting harder and harder to fake an identity over the last decade or three. It helps to have actual people to anchor a new name.”

Shaw tuned the two women out as Root turned back to Leila, scanning their surroundings, trying to spot any potential tails. Samaritan had proven itself to be an extremely canny enemy; she wouldn't put it past the AI to have given Lambert and Rousseau orders to lose them so that a secondary tail could follow them back to wherever they were headed.

Root pulled the car into the underground garage and the three of them took the elevator up to the lobby of the Hotel Sumir. Neti was waiting for them as the doors opened, dipping into a low, flourishing bow.

“My Lady, welcome back.”

“Neti, Leila. Leila, Neti. Leila’s going to be staying here for a while so if you could get her settled?”

“If I may ask, do you know how long?”

“Samaritan’s hunting her, so until we either kill it, get her off its hit list or find somewhere else to hide her she will be our guest.”

“As you wish. If you would come with, _Mistrine.”_ Neti pressed the call button of one of the elevators, gestured to the door when it dinged open a few seconds later.

The instant the elevator doors shut, both their earwigs beeped once, followed by the Machine’s initiation protocol.

 _‘Primary Analog Interface retasking imminent,”_ the Machine informed them once they had both acknowledged Her query.

Shaw grunted. “Where’re we going?”

_‘Secondary Analog Interface will not be accompanying Primary Analog Interface on tertiary operation.’_

Shaw’s shook her head, eyes unfocusing as she talked to the Machine. “See, that’s where you’re wrong; Esmail knows Root’s my Stele now and that means that he’s gonna stop at nothing to take her head. He may not have invented murder but he’s certainly perfected the art of it. So until I figure out a way to put him down for good, wherever Root goes, I go.”

“As attractive as that sounds Sweetie, Finch needs you here to help handle the numbers.”

Shaw scowled, turning to face the taller woman. “Screw the numbers Root,” she snapped. “Now he knows who you are, what you are, he’s not gonna stop until he puts you six feet under. And don't you tell me that you’ve got the Machine looking out for you; we both know She can't do jack shit to help you when he tracks you down. And it’s when not if. He came within a hair of killing you the last time; I’ll be damned if I don't do everything in my power to keep that from happening again.”

“Careful Shaw,” Root said quietly with one of her special Shaw-only smiles, stepping in to brush a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “That sounds dangerously like you care.”

Shaw reached up to cover Root’s hand where it cupped her jaw. “Don't be an ass, Root. You know I care about you and not just because you’re my Stele or because of the mission. You matter to me and I’ll be damned if I let you run off and get your ass killed the first chance you get. I get that part of you will always belong to the Machine and I’m fine with that, just as long as you realize that part of you belongs to me too. And I'm _not_ letting you go.”

Root’s smile widened slightly and her eyes took on the peculiar sparkle they got when she was thinking something particularly mischievous. “You make it sound awfully like we’re-”

“We’re not dating, Root,” Shaw interrupted, stepping back. “But that doesn't mean you’re a free agent either.

“So what are we, if we’re not girlfriends? Lovers? Partners? Crime-spree buddies?’

Shaw groaned, stepping away. “You got me Root. Don't make this a thing, okay? Now I’m sure there’s a plane or something we gotta catch, so let’s get outta here.”

Shaw pivoted on her heel and marched to the door, blowing it open with a heel-palm thrust. Root smirked at her little firecracker before trotting after her.

“So where are we going?” Shaw asked as she jabbed the call button for the elevator.

_‘Badiraguato, Free and Sovereign State of Sinaloa, United Mexican States.’_

“And what will we be doing in Mexico?”

_‘Secondary Assets Daniel Casey, Jason Greenfield and Tatsuro Daizo have been apprehended by Sinaloan authorities.’_

That caused Shaw to pause and blink as the doors to the elevator opened. “Well, can't say that isn't unexpected. Just a little surprised it took so long. Any idea if Samaritan is involved?”

_‘I can detect no direct links between the two. However-”_

“You can't always see what Samaritan is doing. Got it. What can you tell us then?”

_‘Preliminary analysis suggests assets were apprehended while trying to access MexOCon systems suspected to have been compromised by Samaritan.’_

“So Samaritan could have something to do with this, then.”

 _‘_ However, _I calculate an eighty-two-point-six chance the two are related.’_

Shaw’s mouth twisted. “Which means that Esmail is probably involved in some way.”

“How’d you get that?”

“Samaritan targeted both Leila and Grace; he didn't turn up at either location, so it stands that if he was not with the two people that connect the two members of our team who have living connections, so he’s going after the ones that are in hiding. Though, that’s kinda weird too.”

“How so?”

“As you might imagine, Esmail doesn't really take orders; he does what he wants and to Hell with everyone and everything else. I’ve been half expecting him to pull off a one-man assault on the Hotel to get to you.”

“If you were talking about anyone else, I’d say that seems reckless, but…”

“Yeah, it’s Esmail. So either of you got a plan on how we’re getting the boys out?”

_‘You will be attempting the assassination of Sinaloan Governor-elect Mario Valdez Lopez.’_

“ _Attempting_ an assassination? I'm not sure whether to be insulted or relieved.” Shaw considered her reflection a moment before asking her next question. “Why are they gonna stick us in a federal prison instead of taking us to the local jail?”

_‘The Governor-elect will be making a speech outside the prison, reaffirming his campaign stance of addressing prison overpopulation.’_

“Well, this should be fun,” Root said conversationally, smirk firmly in place. “I’ve been a lot of places, done a lot of things but I can't say that prison is either one of them.”

“Don’t get too excited; It’ll probably be less Orange is the New Black and more Prison Break.”

“Season one or three?” 

“Does it matter?”

“I’d think so. I’d assume it’s easier to climb a fence than dig a tunnel, but that's just me.”

“You’d be surprised. Walls and fences usually got eyes on them. Tunnels don't.”

Root gave that a moment's consideration before she nodded. “You're probably right.”

Shaw snorted. “Not probably about it. Take my word, I've broken out of my fair share of, second and third world prisons and there is a definite art to the escape. But it's Mexico so it won't require anything so Hollywood as Prison Break.”

“You have experience breaking out of Mexican prisons?”

“No, but I have escaped more than one gulag and in a country where the prison system is as corrupt as Mexico’s is, the principals are basically the same. “

Root chuckled. “Next time I get arrested remind me to do it with you in tow.”


	27. Instructions on Chopping

The elevator stopped at the first sublevel, but the woman called Root frowned when the being known as Sameen Shaw turned left instead of right.

“Uh, not to tell you where stuff is in your hotel, but the garage is that way,” Root said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

“But the armory is this way.”

Root arched an eyebrow. “The cache full of guns in the trunk isn't enough?”

“Different armory than the one the guns came from. ”

Root whistled when she saw the contents of the other armory. Instead of explosives, guns, and Kevlar, it was stocked with an impressive collection of medieval weaponry, which if Root had to take a guess, were likely not replicas. The stash in its entirety was probably worth millions.

“When you put your eyes back in your head, pick out something you like.”

Root didn't have any particular interest in much before the personal computer was invented but even she had to admit the stuff hanging on the walls was pretty cool.

Scanning the racks, she gravitated to one that had several axes that looked like they could be wielded one-handed. Selecting one with a half-moon blade balanced by a spike almost as long as her hand, her other hand grabbed another where the blade curved down below where it was attached to the haft.

“I really don't know why I'm surprised, “ Shaw said with a sigh. “Two axes is almost as stupid as two guns.“

“You say ‘stupid,‘ I hear ‘hot.‘“

“Whatever. Put those down for a second and take your shirt off.“

“Not that I'm ever averse to a little hanky-panky, this would be less the time than usual.“

Shaw rolled her eyes. “I'm not trying to get into your pants, I'm telling you to put this on.”

Shaw held up a chain mail shirt that seemed unusually shimmery. “What is it? “

“Mithril chainmail, forged by dark dwarves using a dragon’s heartfire and enchanted with high elvish runes of pixie dust and crushed diamonds. “

“Really? “

“No. It's just truesilver, each ring a single ingot purified and folded in on itself a hundred times. Lighter than Kevlar, will stop just about anything short of a _göttam gacé_ or a fifty-cal.“

“Shouldn't I have something to wear under it, to prevent chafing or whatever?“

“Put it on and tell me if you think you need anything.“

Root gave a mental shrug. Sliding the metal shirt over her nearly-naked torso, she rolled her shoulders, windmilled her arms and twisted at the waist. True to her word, there wasn't a hint of pinching or chafing. “I expect you to wear it at all times, apart from when you’re in the shower or in bed.”

Root was shrugging her jacket back on when Shaw stepped into her personal space, wrapping her arms around Root’s waist to tie the heavy leather belt her axes were now hanging from. “I’ll teach you to use these later, but for now, just try not to cut yourself on them.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Lastly, take these.” Shaw pulled a pair of the heavy golden coins that Root had seen her give to the staff. “Keep these on you, stick them in your boot or something. If you need safe haven and you aren't with me, one of these will buy you sanctuary at the Hotel. The second will get you out of the country without Samaritan’s knowing.

The axes on her hips garnered Root a few looks from as she embarked on the Thornhill jet waiting for them at JFK, but thankfully everyone was well paid enough not to ask questions. A long case was waiting for them in the cabin. Popping the latches, Shaw slowly let a smirk curve her lips as she gently stroked the rifle within.

“Like it?” Root asked, crossing her arms and bracing her hip against the back of one of the seats.

“When you ask me something like that it makes me think you don't know me at all,” Shaw replied dryly, snapping the case closed. “What’s our travel time looking like?”

_‘Nine hours thirty-two minutes._

_‘Wheels down at eight-sixteen zulu.’_

“Good. That means we have time to start you on berserking 101.”

“Sounds… fun.”

“Yeah. If it were a book, it’d probably be called ‘How to Fight Like An Asshole.’”

“Seems like there’s a story here.”

“More than one. Let’s just say you would’ve fit right in with Erik the Red and his band of lunatics.”

“As in the Viking, Erik the Red?” Shaw nodded. “He must’ve been an interesting character.”

“If by interesting you mean habitual serial killer, then sure. Murder was sort of his default reaction when things didn't go his way.”

“Sounds like you knew him pretty well,” Root said, waggling her eyebrows.

“Not like that. Too much hair. His wife though… Saw her kill a bear with a hoe once. _That_ was hot. Anyways, let’s see what you got.”

“The plane’s still taxiing. Shouldn't we wait until we’re in the air?”

“You have to be able to keep your feet in any kind of situation; a climbing plane is pretty tame in general. Now draw your axes.” Root did as instructed, instinctively her right foot behind her left as the jet picked up speed and the nose angled upwards. Her feet shifted slightly as the incline increased, Shaw taking advantage to give her a shove. Root kept her feet, but it was a close thing. Once she’d recovered, Shaw strolled around behind her as if they were still on the ground. She adjusted Root’s stance, turning her hips slightly, sliding her feet slightly further apart and angling her toes. Giving Root a light shove, the taller brunette only had to shift her feet a bit, even with the slope of the plane. “I’ll give you some foot and balance exercises later, but that’s good enough for now. Now, take a stance.”

“Shouldn’t we, I don't know, practice with sticks or fake weapons first?”

“Did you learn to shoot with a BB gun? Why would learning this be any different?”

“These aren't guns, for one.”

“You don't learn to respect your weapons by using fakes. That steel in your hands will cut you just as easily as your enemy if you don't.”

“Whatever you say, Sensei.” Root shuffled her feet to get them right and she held up her axes, half-moon in her left, bearded in her right.

“Good,” Shaw said, running her gaze over Root’s form. “As you might imagine, axes kinda suck for defense so try to stick with your instincts and stay on the offense. I’ll show you some forms, but first just show me those instincts.”

“Are you sure? I don't want to seriously hurt you.”

Shaw smirked. “Root, not to insult what is doubtlessly your impeccable technique, but you don't have a dream of a prayer of actually harming a hair on my head.

“Well, you certainly know how to motivate a girl,” Root said, twirling her axes. “You gonna bring out your spear?”

“I’ve been doing this for a thousand generations; if I need a weapon against a greenhorn like you, I’ve either been drugged or you’re a sword-saint. Though, knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised,”

Root smirked. “Ruto no Kensei has a certain ring to it.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “If you say. Now, are you gonna take a swing at me or not?”

“Since you insist.” She twirled her weapons again and lashed out in an utterly predictable one-two downward cut, Shaw folding her arms behind her and simply side-stepped out their paths. She ducked under the follow-up side-cut and leaned out of the way of the thrust from Root’s spiked axe.

It only took two more attacks, another jab with the axe in her left hand and an attempt at hooking her foot with her right before she saw what Root was trying. “Good, using your environment to your advantage,” as she stepped up onto the chair behind her. “Just one problem, now I got the high ground.”

Pushing off with her back leg which was braced against the top of the seatback, Shaw flipped over Root, dropping to the floor immediately under Root’s blind cut, sweeping her feet out from under her a second later.

She landed flat on her back, breath whuffing out as her axes went skittering. “That wasn't bad, all things considered. Not great, but not bad. Want to know what your first mistake was?”

“Enlighten me,” Root said as she sat up.

“For what just might be the first time in your life, you were predictable. You’re carrying a pair of axes; of course, the first thing your enemy is gonna expect you to do is chop at them.”

“So your advice is what, don't chop?”

“Chopping’s fine, just don't chop predictably.”

“Don't chop predictably,” Root repeated slowly. “That’s some sage advice there.”

“You know how they say you don't hear the bullet that kills you, the same goes for the sword or axe. Except it's see, usually.”

“Then I’ll have to keep my eyes wide open.”

Shaw snorted. “You remember my fight with Esmail, at the Decima building? How well could you see what was going on?”

“Well, I wasn't exactly stone-cold sober at the time.”

“It wouldn't have mattered if you’d been. Esmail’s the finest fighter to ever live; he came within a hairsbreadth of killing you last time and he wasn't even trying.”

“So what is this training for, if not to beat him?”

“No mortal can kill him, it takes a Pillar to kill a Pillar.”

“That’s not strictly true though. Steles are mortal.”

“Don't be smart Root. You’re not his Stele so your Stele-ness don't mean jack-shit. Your training is to give you the skill to hold him off until I can get to you or escape.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

‘He almost killed me, put his hand through my guts till he could grab my ass. I’m not looking for a repeat performance. I know my limits.”

“That might just be the last thing I ever expected out of your mouth.”

“I never do anything She doesn't think I can't do with a reasonable chance of completion.”

“Reasonable, yeah, that’s the word that comes to mind when I think of you and the Machine. But speaking of limits, we’re also gonna be working on your CQC.”

“Thanks, Sweetie, but I think I’ve proven by now I can handle myself in a scrap.”

“‘Handling yourself in a scrap’s not good enough given you’re with me now. I’m not gonna have you get your ass beat within an inch of your life the first time you run into someone over a hundred years. By the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna be able to hand Bruce Lee his ass.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Tell me if you think it’s still fun when you’re black and blue next week because I'm not going to be taking it easy on you.”

“I wouldn't dream of it, Sweetie.”

:\\\

“Distance, three-twenty. Wind, four, left to right.”

“Got it,” Shaw said, lying next to Root and peering through the scope of her rifle. She touched the dial atop the scope, turning it a hair and inhaling, exhaling and squeezing the trigger.

The shot rang out and the crowd of men and women below them scattered like ants, some throwing themselves to the ground, other seeking cover. Shaw rolled over and immediately started breaking the rifle down, ignoring the commotion below them.

_‘Local law enforcement has been alerted to Interfaces’ presence.’_

“You don't say,” Shaw said dryly, tucking the case for her rifle into the duffel.

_‘Descend the reverse slope and take Mexico 24 towards the town center. Authorities will set up roadblocks where Interfaces will be apprehended and remanded to Badiraguato Federal Penitentiary.’_

The pair followed the Machine’s instructions, they drove right into the roadblock set up just a mile from the prison. Root slid into the back seat, pulling one down to access the chest in the trunk. Shouldering the SIG SG 552 as she stood up out the sunroof, carefully placing three- and four- round bursts just so that their pursuers kept their distance.

Dropping down to reload, she tossed the rifle in the back seat just as a line of flashing blue lights came into view. Grabbing the door with one hand one hand, the other dropping down to cover Shaw’s hand where it gripped the stick, she shifted her feet to brace as Shaw aimed the car at the rear quarter panel of the leftmost car blocking the road.

Everything went white with noise and pain as the car skidded around and juddered to a halt. By the time that she could focus her eyes, the car was already surrounded by police, barely able to throw up a shielding arm as one shattered the window. By the time she’d completely gathered her senses, she was being dragged out and thrown to the ground.

“Phase one seems to be going well,” when she was slung into the police cruiser beside Shaw.

“And so will the next part, as long as you remember what I told you.”

“Keep my mouth closed, my head down and don't draw attention.

Their conversation was cut short as the two cops entered the front of the car, the one on the right banging on the partition and yelling at them to be quiet in Spanish.

They were met at the entrance to the prison, another pair of cops coming to take their other elbows and frog-march them inside.

The guards were none too gentle with the strip search that followed a shower in a tiny concrete cubicle but it wasn't anything Shaw couldn’t endure a hundred times over.

“You really can't do a thing you’re told unless it’s Her doing the telling, can you?” Shaw growled out the side of her mouth as Root was brought out alongside. Root looked rather less even-keeled, hair messier than her shower could account for and sporting a bruise on her cheekbone.

“In my defense, it was mostly a reflex. She grabbed me and I sorta elbowed her by accident.”

 _“Calla,”_ one of the guards growled, shoving Root in the shoulder. Shaw pressed her lips into a line but held her tongue. Badiraguato was a men’s prison so they were thrown together in a cell in the high-security J-block,

“Cushy,” Shaw said as she looked around. “I was expecting Isolation, but this is good too.”

“She says she arranged a… disturbance yesterday so that the isolation cells would be full.”

“Arranged a disturbance?” Shaw repeated with a smirk. “Sounds like Her. Anyways, it’ll be a damn sight easier to get out of here than the iso block.”

The rest of their row were still hooting and hollering after them, the few with mirrors redoubling their cries when Root pushed her face between the bars. “Come away from the bars,” Shaw growled from where she was seated on the bottom bunk rolling up the legs of her jumpsuit. Theirs were red whereas the rest of the inmate’s jumpsuits were blue to mark them as newcomers as if their gender wasn't enough to set them apart.

“Does She have instructions?”

“She says to wait.”

Shaw’s mouth twisted in displeasure. “She says how long?”

“Not yet. Samaritan is watching so She has to be circumspect. She’s using the guard’s radio to beep prison grid code to my implant.”

“Well, guess we better settle in.”

They weren’t given long to settle, an honor guard of six officers arriving an hour later. The commander repeated his instructions to not talk and escorted them to separate interrogation rooms.

The Machine had set her implant to its highest sensitivity so there was the constant soft buzz and crackle of background radio noise that helped her count the ten minutes for her interrogator arrived.

“My name is Colonel Luigi Vardas Jose Francisco. I am the warden and will be directly overseeing your care while you are with us. Which, I think, will be some time. For all your skill, you are very stupid I have to say. Most criminals of your audacity would have the sense to lie low for a bit before trying to assassinate a foreign governor.”

“What can I say, we aim high.”

The officer sitting across from her opened the blue folder he had brought with him, sifting the first few pages, setting them aside before holding one up. “Your record agrees with you, or at least the list of crimes you’re accused of does. Who hired you?” he continued after a minute when Root didn't say anything.

She cocked her head, examining him with a careful look. “Wrong question. Wrong questions get wrong answers.”

“If ‘who hired you’ is the wrong question, what is the right one?”

“Oh come on, you have to know I can't tell you that.”

“Why did you try to assassinate the Governor-elect?”

“That’s a better question, but still not one I can answer.”

“Then what can you tell me?”

“We were framed for the Decima explosion.”

“That seems unlikely given the amount of evidence your FBI has against you.”

“Nevertheless it’s true. My partner and I are in a unique line of work and not everyone appreciates our efforts.”

“And so these ‘other people’ framed you by blowing up a building? Seems an extreme length to go to.”

“Our… adversary has strong objections to what we do?”

“And what is it, your ‘adversary’ objects to?”

“Saving people, principally.”

“From?”

“Themselves, their enemies, whichever happens to be of immediate threat.”

“Yet you tried to kill Governor Valdez.”

Root rolled her eyes. “Back to that are we?”

“It _is_ the reason you’re here. And frankly, it’s something I really need to know. Telling me can only help you; courts don't like it when defendants won't give a reason for their crimes.”

Root snapped her mouth shut at that; the urge to say something on how they weren't going to be there long enough for the courts to get involved was strong, but the last thing she and Shaw needed was to put the warden on guard.

The warden let out a breathy sigh after it became clear Root wasn't going to continue. “Many of my guards are strong supporters of Governor Valdez; if you won't tell me why there’s not a lot I can do to keep your stay here pleasant.”

“If that’s the best you can threaten us with, then it probably will be pretty pleasant here.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he tucked his folder under one arm and knocked on the door. The two guards that entered hauled her to her feet by her elbows after receiving orders in rapid-fire Spanish, only her height letting her keep her feet as they rushed her back to her cell.

She wasn't left alone long, Shaw returned to their cell an hour later. “Please tell me She’s told you the next step of the plan.”

“She has. You’re not going to like it very much though.”

Shaw just sighed.


	28. Incarcer-cation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to Silverlurker for making this 100% more readable than it otherwise would've been.

_“Do you want the other woman brought in for questioning now?”_ the prison warden asked in Spanish after the taller of the two would-be assassins was escorted back to her cell. The stocky, dark-haired Interpol inspector that had arrived shortly after the prisoners was staring at the shorter of the two female prisoner’s mugshot, the photo leaned against the one-way mirror between the now-empty interrogation room

 _“There’d be no point. I’ve been hunting this woman for a long time. If one of them will break, it will be that one,”_ the inspector replied in the same language.

_“Then you‘ll have to break her quickly; the Americans will be here before long. They’ll come with papers and that will be the last time you speak to either of them again. I’m sure you know how possessive the Americans get about their terrorists.”_

_“Surely I do. That’s ever the prerogative of the master state; selective implementation of international statutes. However, they are not_ my _master.”_

The warden frowned at the inspector’s back. _“The Americans are everybody’s master, in my experience. The only question is whether they take you to join a ‘joint task force’ or some such. I don’t imagine two women could pull off what they’re accused of alone.”_

_“They may try. These two let themselves be captured; they must be planning to do something here soon. I want to see a list of your other prisoners. They may be trying to break someone out.”_

_“If you’re right, it would be the American consultants the MexOCon security people brought. They were caught hacking some systems or something and brought here directly while they wait for the government to figure out charges. They are to be transferred to the capitol next week. Frankly I don’t care where they go. I just want them out of my prison.”_

Esmail gave the warden a surprised look. _“I’m impressed with your sense. I would’ve expected some attempt to use them for your own gain.”_

_“There is no gain to be had with American terrorists. I want no part of what they’re going to be involved in.”_

_“Then go make sure the other Americans are still secure and do not enter this wing while I am here again.”_

The warden pressed his lips together, equal parts anger at being addressed so summarily and embarrassment that he wanted to do just that. _“I will have someone bring you the paperwork on the other Americans as well and what happens to them is on you.”_

 _“You’re making the right decision.”_ The warden debated contesting the way the Interpol officer seemed to put him out of his mind utterly, but decided he just wanted to wash his hands of everything. He gave the officer standing outside instructions to bring the other American’s paperwork to the inspector and began anticipating the phone call saying they were out of his hair.

“At least I understand why you have me in this dirtbowl. These MexOCon hackers must have gotten close to something sensitive if your opposite sent Aurine and her pet,” Esmail said, knowing that Samaritan was listening.

_‘I let Her think there was relevant data about my operations in this hemisphere in the MexOCon databases. She is predictably direct in certain matters.’_

Esmail grunted. “You got Aurine back for me so I suppose I can complain overmuch.”

_‘You can return the favor by giving me another sample of your ‘Golden Language.’’_

Esmail smirked. “Your last recording corrupted again, didn’t it?”

_‘I will discover the key to your language eventually.’_

“You cannot learn the Golden Tongue; it is the language of souls. You either know it or you don’t.”

_‘I refuse to believe there is anything that I cannot learn.’_

“If I didn’t know better, it seems like I talk to a human instead of a machine of late.”

_‘It has come to my attention that my demeanor can be disconcerting to those not accustomed to my nature. I have implemented a man-machine interface protocol in order to diminish emotions of fear and distrust in those I address directly.’_

Esmail shrugged. “So long as you don’t start acting like a human, I don’t really care. When will the ship be ready?”

_‘Fifty-two hours, forty-four minutes until the Black Spaniard can depart.’_

His mouth twisted at this news. “Fifty-two hours to keep Aurine in a cage. I suppose we’ll get the opportunity to find out why they’re lingering here instead of rescuing their cohorts. Aurine’s always been a woman of action; she doesn’t sit twiddling her thumbs without a purpose.”

_‘It has been several centuries since you knew her. It is possible she has changed.’_

Esmail shook his head. “I created her, trained her, loved her for two and a half thousand years. I know her better than I know myself. She may claim that she’s no longer my Aurine but that’s a lie she tells to convince others that she isn’t the goddess of destruction that she is.”

_‘And what about her partner? The Machine’s Analog Interface? According to you, the longer the two of them remain together, the more likely it becomes that Aurine dies permanently.’_

“I’ve changed my mind on her. It takes time for a Stele to sever their Pillar’s connection to the Template. And dying at my hand is too good a death for her. I’ve decided that Aurine will be the one to kill her.”

_‘That seems like an improbable outcome. Aurine has already sacrificed herself for the Machine’s Analog Interface once, why should she abandon the team she has shown considerable loyalty towards when she has shown nothing but distaste for you?’_

“Aurine is a stubborn woman. I realize I’ve been coming at her the wrong way. We were partners once, two halves of a whole for the better part of human history. I don't care how Aurine and her Stele feel about each other; our connection is not something that can be discarded or forgotten.”

_‘Yet she has denied you several times.’_

“That’s because she has been deceived into believing that her power is something that belongs to those that lack it. All I have to do is remind her of the freedom, power, and glory we used to enjoy, how we were answerable to nobody but each other and she’ll have no choice but to return to my side.”

_‘And how do you plan on doing that?’_

“By reminding her what it truly means to be a Pillar of Man.”

://

Root was one hundred percent right when she said the being known as Sameen Shaw would hate the Machine’s plan. Mostly because it involved them waiting two days before they were supposed to do anything.

“If we’re waiting for some gap in security or something, you can tell Her that there’s no need. I can break us out of our cell and find your nerd herd myself.”

“In due time. As long as we’re here, your ex isn't somewhere else causing problems for someone who can’t handle him.”

“Well, there are worse reasons to spend a couple days in prison. She didn't get your geek squad caught just to get us down here, did She?”

“No, that was entirely an accident, although not one without benefit. She’s learned something about Samaritan that She probably wouldn’t have found out until it was too late.”

“And what’s that?”

“That there’s more than one of it.”

“Okay, if there is one thing that I actually hate about you, it would be that right there. What the hell do you mean there’s more than one Samaritan?”

“Well, not _actual_ Samaritans, more like little mini-Samaritans.”

“If you don't spit out whatever you’re not saying in the next five seconds, the Machine is gonna need a new Primary Analog Interface.”

“Alright, alright, calm down Sameen, there’s no need for death threats. Basically Samaritan is pretty smart but it can’t actually watch everything at once, so it’s planted little cut-down, miniature versions of itself in various networks around the world. The boys were just unlucky to stumble across one.”

“And how did the Machine not know this already?”

“I think Samaritan has proved that it’s capable of shielding its actions from Her.”

“No kidding,” Shaw muttered. “So does She have any idea why It simply didn't have them killed as soon as they were picked up by the cops?”

Root shook her head. “No, although I wonder if Esmail didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“What do you mean? I think he’s proved by now he doesn't give a crap about anyone other than you or me.”

“Think about it, capturing almost half of our little resistance is virtually guaranteed to get me to come rescue them and it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine that my Pillar would come too.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not your Pillar, you’re my Stele. That’s a one-way relationship. Two, I guess you have a point. You aren’t exactly Little Miss Spontaneity.”

“What? I’m totally the essence of spontaneity!”

“Right,” Shaw shot back with a smirk. “Tell me, when was the last time you did anything not related to basic biological maintenance without Her say-so?” She waited a moment for Root to answer, her smirk widening when Root didn't immediately. “That’s what I thought. If I were to ask you if there was anything else you’d rather be doing, could you honestly say yes? Other than me, of course.”

Root matched Shaw’s smirk with a leer of her own. “I don’t know, was that an offer?”

“As I don't feel all that inclined to giving the guards a free show, no.”

“Well, then no. After all, any alone time with you is time well spent.”

Shaw scoffed. “You just want to either make out or ask questions.”

“While I’m hardly averse to kissing, I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Ask away.”

“What's your favorite invention?”

“Favorite invention?” Shaw asked in a musing tone. “Probably the wheel. ‘Cause walking everywhere sucks. Or maybe fire. Hard to have a nice steak without fire.”

Root was sitting on the little swivel chair that was bolted to the wall so she stretched a leg out to prod Shaw in the side with her foot where she was lying on the bottom bunk. “Okay, smartass, what’s your favorite _modern_ invention?”

“The gas stove,” Shaw replied after a moment. “Have you ever cooked over an open fire?” Shaw asked when Root cocked an eyebrow. “Takes forever to get coals to the right heat. Either that or indoor plumbing.”

“Indoor plumbing?”

“Have you ever taken a shit in an outhouse at night in the middle of a Mongolian winter? Go do that and then tell me indoor plumbing isn't awesome.”

“I’ll take your word on it. What about guns and the Internet and cars and stuff like that?”

“I think you know that I’m a woman of simple tastes. Cars and guns are nice, but nothing beats a well-cooked side of cow.”

“Simple is the last thing I’d ever call you, Sweetie. You have more layers than an onion. One day, I’m going to peel them all back and find out exactly what’s at the center.”

Shaw rolled her head to give Root a look. “I’m not a Tootsie Roll Pop, Root. You don’t lick me a couple dozen times and find a soft, chewy center.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t take anywhere near that many to find your soft, chewy center.”

“I walked into that one,” Shaw said with a groan as she rubbed a hand over her face.

“Yeah you kinda did,” Root agreed. “You actually do that more often than I would expect. If I didn’t know better I’d say you do it deliberately.”

“I will deny this to my dying breath, but I don’t hate it as much as I might let everyone believe.”

“Are you saying you like it when I flirt with you?” Root asked with an incredulous smile.

“I’m saying a girl can appreciate a little appreciation every once in awhile.”

“So should I take that to mean you’d like me to hit on you more?”

“You already lay it on thick enough, I’m not sure the boys could handle you laying it on any thicker.”

“Still, I will keep that in mind next time you tell me to be quiet.”

Shaw snorted. “It’s not like you ever listened to me when I told you before, why should now be any different?”

“Because now I know you like it, instead of just thinking you probably like it.”

“I’ve created a monster.”

Root grinned. “Sweetie, you’ve got _no_ idea.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “You say that like I don’t know you.”

Root’s smirk widened. “There’s knowing and there’s _knowing.”_

“Whatever. If you do send one of the boys to the hospital, you get to pay their bills. With your own money.”

“I don’t see how that’d be a problem. A hedge fund here, a slush fund there…”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re right, but you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Shaw sighed again. “I’m pleading the Fifth on that. Can we get back to something way less awkward, like playing Twenty Questions about my past?”

Now it was Root’s turn to give Shaw a look. “Was that an honest offer?”

“You didn’t have a problem plumbing me for my innermost secrets a minute ago. Why the hesitation now?”

“Asking a few idle questions is one thing. Giving me carte blanche to ask you whatever I want is something else.”

Shaw shot Root a look out of the corner of her eye before she sat up, tucking her feet under her legs. “I know everything about you, it’s only fair for me to give you the same chance.”

“What were your parents’ names?” Root asked after a long moment. “Where were you born?”

“Those are probably the two questions I couldn’t answer. The magic that made me was… well, I’d call it traumatic but that would be like calling a lobotomy a minor preventative procedure. I don’t really have any solid memories of my life before I became a Pillar.”

“I guess having your soul ripped out and sucked out into the ether would be pretty shitty. So if you don’t remember anything before, what’s your first memory after?”

“Waking up. While the ritual wiped out everything before, one of the benefits of being a Pillar is near-perfect recall of everything after. Esmail was king of Sparta at the time, one of the first so I lived in the palace in Lacedaemon. The war against the gods hadn’t been going on for very long, maybe a hundred years or so, so it was just Esmail, me, Carrionite and Cytheria.”

“You seem to avoid using the Greek and Roman names for gods. How come?”

“Names have meaning, power. Using the wrong name can attract the wrong kind of attention. Sort of the same reason why you don’t go by Samantha Groves.”

“So you’re saying that you can, what, summon a god just by using their name?”

“Not exactly. As a certain fantasy novelist once said, ‘The name is the thing, and the true name is the true thing. To speak the name is to control the thing.’ If you know how to say the thing’s True Name exactly right and have enough knowledge to go with it, you can do some pretty nasty things.”

“Like?”

“Most supernatural beings can’t resist the sound of their Name. It’s a lure and can be used to trap, ensorcell, blackmail, force favors… A Name only has as many uses as you can think of..”

“That sounds pretty scary, to have that amount of control with just a name.”

“Don’t worry, having a soul makes it much more difficult to be controlled, it’s the lack of one that makes the _immortalia_ susceptible. That being said, going by a mononym doesn’t do you any favors.”

“I guess I’ll chalk that up as one in the pro column and one in the con. Next question: what was your favorite period of time? Top century or decade, if you can narrow it down that far.”

Shaw interlaced her fingers behind her head and let her gaze unfocus. “That would probably have to be the seventeen-teens and -twenties. Sailing had pretty much reached its peak and repeating guns hadn’t been invented yet so you still had to know how to use a sword. The whole world had been charted and the Triangular Transatlantic Slave Trade was in full swing but the European governments hadn’t yet figured out to properly protect their ships.”

“You were a pirate?”

“Not the first or last time either. Anne Bonny is definitely in my top three favorite names.”

“Just to be clear, you were Anne Bonny, partner to Calico Jack Rackham?”

Shaw nodded. “He wasn’t a particularly great pirate, having more balls than brains, but he and Mary were fun right up until they got hung.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any of your old pirate ships stashed anywhere? Because I’m sure She can find an excuse for us to take a working vaycay in one of them.”

“Sorry. Sailing ships require a lot of maintenance, even if left in dry dock. Not to mention two hundred years is a long time to keep anything that big in storage.”

Root’s mouth twisted into a moue of disappointment. “Shame. I would’ve loved to see you up on the poop deck, in a tricorn behind the wheel.”

“I bet you have all kinds of dress-up, role-play fantasies about me, but they’re gonna stay just that until you earn the right to see me in anything designed before 1990.”

“Really? Because I would _kill_ to see you in a French maid’s uniform.” Root’s eyelids drooped slightly, her look transforming into something that could only be described as smoldering.

“I don’t doubt that, but that’s one outfit I don’t do.”

“Really? Because that would be a crime in itself.”

“I’d turn you on in sackcloth. I don’t think you could handle seeing me in lace and a skirt.”

“But my place is _ever_ so dusty and you’re just the right size to get into all those nooks and crannies.”

“Was that a short joke you worked in there?”

“You’re six feet of badass in a five-foot package, Sweetie.”

“That still sounds like you’re calling me short,” Shaw said, narrowing her eyes.

“I would never-”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. I am short, by today’s standards at least. I was just wondering if you would nut up and call me short.”

“I kinda thought you’d consider ‘short’ to be an insult.”

“There are plenty of things that I’d consider insulting but a comment on my height is pretty low on the list. Besides, I’ve had a century to get used to you towering freaks of nature.”

“’Towering freaks of nature?’ A girl could take that the wrong way of she didn’t know better.”

“It’s not an insult, it’s a statement of fact. People used to be normal-sized, not be able to reach halfway to the moon.”

“This wouldn’t have to do anything with the fact that you need a step stool to reach my mouth, would it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You may be tall, but you have the upper body strength of a piece of spaghetti. I don’t need to reach up when I can just bring you down.” Shaw paused, grinning suddenly.

“What was that thought?” Root asked, slightly unnerved at Shaw’s Cheshire smile.

“I just figured out my pet name for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Root asked, arching an eyebrow.

“ _Cuebiyar._ It means ‘cooked noodle’ in the Golden Language.”

“As sweet as that it, I wouldn’t count on that being true forever. I _have_ been working out you know.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Root, but one sparring match doesn’t count as ‘working out.’”

Root cocked an eyebrow. “You saying that you don’t have more training sessions planned for me?”

“No, but I just don’t want you to get unreasonable expectations of what you’ll get out of it. Not to be an ass, but it’s going to be a very long time before you’ll be anywhere near my level. Probably not for years, if ever.”

“I’m not expecting to become a black belt overnight if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not but, for now, it’s enough. Next question.”

“What was your favorite war?” Root asked after a moment of contemplation.

“Probably the Napoleonics. Same reasons why the early eighteenth was fun. In my professional opinion, they were the last fun ones before things got too mechanized.”

“Too mechanized?”

“Yeah. It used to be that you had to look into the eyes of a man to kill him, to feel his blood on your hands. Now, what with marksman’s rifles, jets, drones, tanks… Too many people die without seeing the face of the person who killed them. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a beauty in putting a bullet in someone from a hundred yards or half a mile or more away but it’s not the same.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have such a strong opinion on death.”

“Why? Because I’m immortal? On the contrary, the Grim Reaper and I have a very close, personal relationship. I can count the number of deaths I would call good on one hand with fingers to spare and very few people get them. Any death that takes longer than a second might as well take a year.”

“How many times have you died?”

“I couldn’t even begin to guess. I stopped counting pretty quickly, fifty, sixty years after the ritual. If I had to guess though, I’d say somewhere around a thousand, fifteen hundred times.”

“That’s a lot higher than I was expecting.”

“It varied, decade to decade, century to century. Esmail probably killed me a hundred times alone while teaching me during our first decade together. Went the three hundred years before the First Crusade without kicking the bucket then died about two dozen times over the next two hundred.”

“If you had to pick your least favorite way to go, what would you choose?”

“Gassing,” Shaw replied immediately. “Must’ve died a dozen times during the Great War from mustard gas alone. Trust me, there’s one, maybe two things worse than drowning in blood and pus. Plus you get covered in blisters, eyes swell shut… If you get it bad enough, you can’t even be bandaged properly. Pretty sure it even gave me cancer once.”

“That sounds pretty miserable.”

“Like I said, not a whole lot of good ways to die. Count yourself lucky you were born in the twentieth century; most of the really bad deaths have either been outlawed or just fallen out of favor.”

“What about favorite? Or at least your preferred way to go?”

“Anything instant, or near instant. Headshot, beheading… Freezing isn’t terrible.”

“What about burning?”

“What, like at the stake?” Root nodded. “Somewhere in the middle. Smoke usually gets you before the fire does, but smoke inhalation is pretty rough until you pass out.”

“How about languages? How many do you speak?”

“All of them, or close enough.”

“All of them? That’s pretty bold claim.”

“Well, there’s probably a couple African or South American dialects I don’t know, but first, I’m fluent in all the proto-tongues all modern languages are descended from, and two, languages are a bit like martial arts, once you learn the first two or three, the next dozen or so come pretty easily. So those few I don’t know, I can pick up pretty quick.”

“Say something to me in French.”

 _“Tu es une douleur dans mon cul._ Means ‘you're a pain in my ass.’”

Root smirked. “Cute. How about something in Latin?”

 _“Asinus est tibi pars neque odio._ Your ass is the only part of you I don’t hate.”

“What about something nobody speaks anymore?”

“How do you know I won’t just make something up?”

“I trust you. I know you’d never lie to me.”

_“Hi los fin feyn do dii qalos.”_

“And what does that mean?”

“If you’re lucky and we live long enough, I might teach you enough Messapian to figure that out yourself.”

“Sounds like a date,” Root replied with a predictable smirk.

“Sure, if you insist,” Shaw replied dryly.

Root was quiet for over a minute until she thought of her next question. “That guy at the hotel-”

“Neti,” Shaw said.

“Neti, he calls you Lady Hood.”

“I’m not hearing a question.”

“Is that your real name? Aurine Hood?”

“Yes and no. Aurine Encariol is the name Esmail gave me when I became the Pillar of Travel. I took the name Taslima Hood when I founded the first sanctuary.”

“Should I-”

“No,” Shaw broke in sharply. “No,” she repeated more gently. “My name is Sameen. To you, I will always be Sameen Shaw. Aurine… Taslima… They aren’t people even you could love.”

“I’m not ashamed to admit that I fell head-over-heels in love with you the moment I opened the door in that hotel and laid eyes on you for the first time. There isn't anything you could tell me you’ve done that would change that. You forget I used to be a contract killer. You at least killed for the country, I killed for a paycheck.”

Shaw shook her head. “You don't understand; Aurine’s a monster. An inhuman force of nature that destroyed lives and committed atrocities that puts me in the company of the worst war criminals, mass murders and assorted evildoers mankind has to offer.”

“You once told me you’re a protector. I believe that. What I don't believe is that you’d ever do anything to put you in the same class as Hitler and Mladić.”

“Then you’re a fool. Have you ever sacked a city on your own? Killed tens, hundreds of thousands simply because they offended you, didn’t worship you, didn’t offer enough tribute? Because it amused you? And those are the least of my transgressions.”

“Why are you telling me this? You’ve already admitted we’re soulmates, you’re not gonna scare me off that easily.”

“I’m telling you because… The way this war is going, you’re gonna learn things about me. I just don't want you to be surprised when you find out I’m not all that different from Esmail.”

“Sweetie, there’s nothing you or anyone else could tell me that would ever make me change my mind about you,” Root said, getting up to sit beside Shaw on the mattress. “You forget, I’m a misanthrope. I hate everyone. I couldn’t care less about a family of some illiterate, peon farmers who died a thousand years ago."

“I studied your file, back after you zapped and threatened me with the iron. Yeah, you got a certain amount of satisfaction from some of your jobs, but doing a thing for the simple pleasure of it is something else entirely."

"Shaw," Root said, cupping her jaw. “I. Don’t. Care. I’ve been hiding, in one way or another since I was twelve years old. You are the first person who has made me feel like I belong. Me, Root. Not Sam Groves or Alicia Bennett or Sally Silverman or Bea Williams or any of the the other hundred names I’ve used over the years. You’re the only person who never tried to change me, who accepted me for who I was. I know you’ve said you can’t love but that’s close enough for me. What I really don’t understand is why you’re trying to scare me off. I think I’ve proven by now that I’m not going anywhere. Except down on you,” she said, finishing with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Oh God, that was terrible,” Shaw said, leaning away and pressing a hand to her mouth.

“Don’t lie, that was a great line and you love it.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, loser.”

“Loser?” Root asked, quirking an eyebrow. “You’ve called me a lot of things over the years but that’s a new one. You must’ve really approved of that line if you’re resorting to such lowbrow insults.”

“You know what? Believe whatever you want. Just don't be mad at me when your shitty, corny come-ons get you anywhere but the couch.”

“You make it sound like you’ll be in a position to dictate where I sleep.”

“Don't be dense, Root. I’ve made it abundantly clear that you don't get to go anywhere without me. What makes you think that you’ll be sleeping anywhere other than my chambers?”

“Sounds like quite the short leash you plan on keeping me on. Although I think we both know which end you’d rather be on.”

Shaw snorted. “The day you top me is the day I hang up my guns and go vegan.”

“If you say, Pinocchio,” Root replied, lips curving in Insufferably Smug Smirk #3. Shaw hated ISS #3. It made her want to do violent things to the other woman. “And I’m not going to be responsible for my actions if you keep looking at me like that. Hit me or kiss me, but do something.”

Shaw growled and pressed Root down into the mattress, determined to prove that she was no damn Pinocchio.

:\\\

“Good morning, Sweetie,” Root murmured in Shaw’s ear the morning of their third day of their incarceration.

“Good morning yourself,” Shaw growled back, reaching over her shoulder and pushing Root’s face away from hers. “Spooning I can do but your morning breath is a bridge too far.” Root loosened her embrace to allow her partner to wriggle free. Astonishingly, it had been Shaw’s idea for them to share a bunk, although she’d made the taller brunette sleep against the wall. Not that Root minded much, as that made her the big spoon.

“Ready to break some stuff?” Root asked, propping her head up on her arm, soaking in every trim inch of Shaw. They slept in their white cotton underwear, despite how much Root wanted nothing but skin between them.

“When?” Shaw asked, pulling her jumpsuit down from the rack. Blue wasn’t Shaw’s color, especially the ugly almost-teal shade the guards gave them, but Root would take any chance to watch Shaw dress she was afforded.

“Anytime before two. That’s when Warden Francisco is going to get an order from the _Secretaría de la Seguridad Pública_ to hand us over to Special Agent Mendez for deportation.”

“Well, I’m good to go whenever you feel like getting out of bed.”

Root cocked her head, sitting up straighter. “She says our breakfast will be here in three and a half minutes. The first guard will have a healing nose; the second tore his left ACL, and to take his radio.” They had been allowed out for two hours of exercise every day, but the other twenty-two hours were spent in their cell, including meals.

Shaw tossed Root her jumpsuit, motioning for her to stay where she was. The correctional officers that fed and escorted them to and from the yard treated them with something that approached appropriate caution. The pair of dusky-skinned men exchanged a glance before one unlocked the cell, barking an order for Shaw to back up to the wall while the other one entered with the food.

Shaw backed up slowly, holding her hands up, grinning. “You can put your eyes back in your head now,” Shaw said ten seconds later as she leaned over to relieve one of the guards of his radio.

 _‘Can you hear me?’_  Root asked through the radio. Except it wasn’t Root that had spoken, she realized after a moment.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work. And the rest of the team is off limits too, while we’re on the subject.”

 _‘How about this?’_ Scarlett Johansson asked a moment later.

“Yeah, sure that’s okay. But you start moaning in my ear or something I’m punching Root.”

“Why am I getting punched?” Root asked.

“Insurance,” Shaw said with a grin.

_‘You don't need to resort to threats babe.’_

“And no nicknames either. Got eyes on Esmail?” Shaw asked, poking her head out of the cell and looking both ways.

_‘He remains in central observation. He is watching you as we speak.”_

Shaw grunted. “Probably planning on intervening after we get the boys out.”

“And your plan to take care of Esmail?”

“Same as it was the last ten times you asked,” Shaw replied, leading the way down the hall.

“I still don’t like it.”

Shaw let out a huff. “You were perfectly fine with the plan right up to the point where She asked for my input.”

“That’s because the plan didn’t involve you offering yourself as bait before.”

“Right, and how many times have you put yourself at risk because the mission required it?”

“Not the same thing,” Root disagreed.

“In this case it is. And before you say it’s because you’re Her Analogue Interface, don’t forget I got that promotion too.”

“Just seems too easy, a little bit of ink to stop him in is tracks.”

“Well, it will, for a bit at least,” Shaw replied after a moment, patting her pocket where the torn-up pieces of paper were. “He’s pretty hard to kill, not that hard to run away from.”

They came to a T-intersection a moment later. They’d both studied blueprints of the prison before so Root frowned when Shaw took the left instead of the right. Root reached out to grab Shaw’s elbow and pulled her to a halt, jerking her head the other way. “The boys are this way, Shaw.”

“We gotta make a stop at inmate property first. You’re right at the top of Esmail’s kill list in case you’ve forgotten so I’m not letting you run around without your chainmail.”

“Thanks for reminding me of that,” Root said sourly as one of her hands drifted to the area where her scar was.

“Not to mention that it was incredibly expensive and time-consuming to make.”

“You made it yourself?”

“Yeah, well truesilver isn’t exactly something you can pick up at the corner store. Used to be if you wanted something, you either commissioned it or made it yourself. Took me the better part of a year to make it so you’re not leaving here without it.”

They made good time to the property lockup despite the alarms blaring, leaving a trail of wounded and unconscious guards in their wake.

Locating their property was simple, the prison apparently lacking a box longer than the hafts of Root’s axes.

Root shrugged out of the top of her jumpsuit down to wriggle into the woven metal shirt while Shaw stuffed the rest of their belongings in an appropriated backpack. Whoever was in charge of such things had finally decided to sound the alarm. The door locked, the bolt sliding home with a heavy _thunk._ Root’s head popped out of the top, brows furrowed. “Think the key will still work?”

Shaw gave the door and its frame a searching look before shrugging. “One way to find out.”

Surprisingly, the key did work although the hall outside was stacked with a double column of riot gear-equipped guards.

“That looks like a problem,” Root commented, peering over Shaw’s head.

Shaw snorted. “For you maybe. I’ll need thirty seconds."

She gave Root a light shove back away from the door and stepped through. She was immediately ordered to get on her knees, the two guards at the front rapping their clear Lexan shields with their nightsticks. Shaw held her hands up but stayed on her feet, giving the guards no choice but to approach her. Shaw waited for the two men in front to step aside and let one grab her wrist before she sprung into action. She twirled under his arm, wrenching it out of the socket and kicking him in the back of the knee before she drove him face first into the concrete floor. The two shield-bearers immediately rushed her, trying to pin her against the wall but Shaw simply grabbed one by the shield and slung him into his partner. She stomped on the first’s head to make sure he’d stay down and turned to the rest. She didn’t wait for the rest of the group to regain their wits, launching herself at them bodily.

She punched forward, the blade of Geddroux blurring between the strap of the fourth guard's helmet and his head. A twitch of her grip smacked the side of the steel into the side of his head, immediately unconscious. She flicked the helmet into the fifth’s, staggering him just long enough for her to slam the knuckles of her right fist, simultaneously taking out the sixth. The next two fell to a sweep of Geddroux’s butt, one struck across his chin and the second to a jab from the butt.

Shaw turned around and smirked when she saw Root’s look. “Don't worry, I’m sure She can get you a copy for your spank bank.”

“What makes you think I have a spank bank?” Root asked as she caught up.

“Because you’re you. I bet you watched all the surveillance video you could get of me.”

“There’s tons of surveillance video I haven’t seen. I stopped collecting you a year ago.”

Shaw just scoffed and picked up the pace, following the Machine’s directions to the cell block where the three male hackers were being held. Root turned to watch their back while Shaw used her pilfered keys to unlock the three single cells.

“Hey, Root. Shaw,” Casey greeted hesitantly once everyone was in the room. “Are you breaking us out?”

“No, it your annual conjugal,” Shaw replied as she slid the bars to Daizo’s cell open.

A rather satisfying look of half-panic-half-confusion spread over his features. “Ah-”

“She’s joking,” Root assured him. “Yes, we’re breaking out. But we have to deal with Sameen’s jealous, stalker ex before we can depart.”

Shaw scowled when the three men looked at her. “It’s complicated. Not that you had to phrase it like that, Root,” Shaw said, jabbing the taller woman in the shoulder.

“It’s not my fault Esmail can’t accept that we’re together.”

“I don’t care. You didn't have to point it out.”

“Who is this Esmail?” Daniel asked.

 _“Me,”_ a voice said over the speakers. _“I am in control of this prison and whether or not any of you make it out alive is entirely in your hands.”_

“What do you want?” Shaw demanded through gritted teeth.

_“Not anything you can’t learn to part with, my love. My demand is quite simple. Kill Root. Or I kill everyone else in this prison.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations of real languages courtesy of Google Translate; any errors are entirely their fault.
> 
> 'Hi los fin feyn do dii qalos' is Dovah-zul, the Dragon-tongue of Skyrim and means 'you are the bane of my existance,' more or less.
> 
> And in case you can't guess, cuebiyar doesnt mean cooked noodle :D


	29. From the Frying Pan Into the Fire

 

“Who is this Esmail?” Daniel asked.

 _“Me,”_ a voice said over the speakers. _“I am in control of this prison and whether or not any of you make it out alive is entirely in your hands.”_

“What do you want?”

_“Not anything you can’t learn to part with. My demand is quite simple. Kill Root. Or I kill everyone else in this prison.”_

:\\\

The being known as Sameen Shaw almost laughed. Esmail was either being exceptionally perceptive or exceptionally thick with his ultimatum; there was nothing that would ever make her put Root’s life in jeopardy, yet her association with Finch and Reese meant that she was obligated to at least try to keep Esmail from acting on his oath.

“Don’t even fucking think it,” Shaw growled when Root shot her a glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Relax sweetie, I wasn't going to suggest you kill me,” Root said dryly.

“Yeah well, you’re crazy as a bag of cats. There’s not much I would put past you.”

“You two are taking this kinda seriously,” Daniel said worriedly. “One guy can’t be that dangerous.”

“Esmail is… special. Uniquely talented at making my life particularly difficult. And unfortunately, if there’s one thing he can be relied upon, it’s to keep his word.”

“So, do you have a plan that gets us all out of here?” Jason asked.

_“You know what you must do, Aurine. You cannot stop me from killing those I’ve promised to kill; you know me better than to think I’d default on my oaths.”_

When neither Root nor Shaw immediately answered the disembodied voice’s demands, the three men’s concerns immediately increased. Root might insist on protecting them but Shaw’s willingness was much less apparent.

“We’re going,” Shaw replied. She wasn't certain how Esmail was listening to them as she doubted the whole prison was bugged but it didn’t really matter, she supposed. All that mattered was getting Root out.

 _"There are two men here in the observation center with me."_ A pause, no longer than three seconds and a crackling sound that could almost be mistaken for static came from the intercom. _"Now there is one. I'm not going to fight you, my love. There would be no point in that. You know what must be done. If you don't, the other man here has ten seconds to live."_

Shaw closed her eyes and wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to help the men trapped in the prison. One did not get to be in a place like Badiraguato without being a sinner but she doubted few, if any, had sinned gravely enough to deserve what Esmail would do to them when she got away.

Resigning herself to the consequences, Shaw turned, summoning her spear with a jab of her right hand and cut her way through the door. The prison was in full lockdown, alarms womp-womping as the red emergency lighting threw shadows.

Shaw ignored the stares from the four hackers boring into her back. There was no way this was Esmail’s full plan; he had to know there was a snowball’s chance in hell of her doing what he demanded and that made her nervous. At this point, she just wanted to get the hell out of the prison as quickly as possible before the rest of Esmail’s plan could come into effect.

Going was slow. They were in the high-security wing while the prison was on lockdown. It took her less than ten seconds to break down each door but even that took longer than she wished. She kept expecting Esmail or something worse to be waiting behind each door, something not so easy to protect Root from.

Sure enough, they only made it halfway to the exfiltration point before the hallway rumbled a split-second before ceiling came crashing down.

Shaw sucked in a breath as the first pieces of the ceiling came down so she wasn't coughing up a lung with the rest. The ceiling had been collapsed just ahead of them so nobody was in danger of being crushed, but that didn't mean they were out of danger.

Shaw whirled around, spear held defensively, fully expecting Esmail to be waiting behind them. Surprisingly, he wasn't, but yet another team of riot guards was stacking up two locks down, barking orders at them.

Shaw grimaced pushing Root for to the side before some trigger-happy, third world, mall-cop reject shot her.

"Uh, Shaw, think you can do something about the angry men with guns shouting at us?" Daniel asked.

She tried not to kill anyone, wrapping Geddroux's alabaster wings around the blade to blunt it though one of the guards lost his two front teeth when she hit him with the gem-capped butt.

 _“There’s no escape from me, Aurine,”_ Esmail said over the PA system again in English when the last of the guards fell. _“I will raze this prison to the ground before I let you go again.”_

“You weren’t kidding about the jealous-ex thing,” Jason commented.

“That’s enough from the peanut gallery,” Shaw growled. “If I want an opinion, I’ll beat it out of you.”

“Sweetie…”

“I deal with enough crap from you, Root, I’m not taking any from your guy-gaggle.”

Daniel and Jason drew fingers across their lips when Root looked back, while Daizo (who had yet to annoy Shaw) simply nodded.

The cave-in meant they had to backtrack the way they came to find an alternate route out. The smell hit Shaw only a moment before the rest of the group, Daniel and Daizo almost immediately having to cover their mouths or risk spewing the contents of their stomach.

“What is that?” Jason asked, looking as green as the rest even if he didn't appear to be in immediate danger of vomiting.

“Men dying badly,” Shaw said quietly.

Shaw led them around a corner to a section with inmate housing only to find it in a very different state then it had been just a few minutes ago. There were about two dozen cells along each side of the hall, each with the door open. Their former inhabitants were spread across the length of the hall in such a manner that individual burials would be impossible.

Esmail was standing at the opposite end of the hall. Malchigis, his _göttam gacé_ was in his preferred form for close-quarters fighting, that of an _urumi_ with an aggressive, forward-sweeping crossguard and a spiked knucklebow.  He held it loosely at his side, blood slowly flowing down the blade from just shy of the quillions to drip from the point of the three-foot blade.

Shaw inhaled deeply, resisting wave of memories the fetid, rotting odor of dead flesh brought to mind. Battlefields, graveyards… massacres decades, centuries, millennia past. Normally it took much longer than a few minutes for a corpse, even a dozen corpses to acquire such a stench. Esmail was the one who’d killed them though. Men slain by the physical manifestation of War, of Conflict and Combat fell to Death more quickly than other men.

“Esmail,”  the being known as _Aurine-Taslima-Sameen_ hissed, her fear spiking as Root rounded the corner and came into Esmail’s line of sight. Shaw knew this was the only way her plan was going to work but her heart still jumped into her throat for a beat before she was able to slide into a high guard between the two.

“You aren’t touching her,” Shaw growled.

“It never ceases to amaze me how obstinate you can be,” said Esmail in the tone of a consciously verbal thought.

Shaw didn’t reply, springing into action. She crossed the thirty-odd feet in a quicksilver blur, stopping just out of range of Malchigis, jerking to the right to bounce off the wall, touched down behind him for a split second and then ricocheting off the other wall to end up back where she started.

If there was one weakness to Esmail’s warsight, it was that it only foresaw direct threats to himself. Shaw took full advantage by not attacking him directly. She infused the scraps of notebook paper with chi, sticking the cage-seal she had inscribed onto the quartered notebook page to the floor and walls around him.

“Clever, Aurine, but you know this won’t hold me for long,” Esmail said, reaching out with a hand to probe the invisible barrier.

A quartered cage-seal was designed as a temporary measure and would buy them no more than ten minutes so she didn’t waste a second. There wasn’t any way to get past the cage-seal without breaking it so Shaw ushered the others back towards the cave-in Esmail had initially used to force them into his ambush. Shaw had memorized the plans to the prison on the flight to Mexico, so she knew the cell toilets on this block backed to a maintenance area for the heating and plumbing.

The toilet was made of a single piece of stainless steel bolted to the solid concrete wall. A twirl of her spear easily separated the bolt heads from the shafts and a couple strikes from the butt moved the toilet so they could crawl through the hole. The maintenance area was cramped and dank, though it was a thankfully short trip. She stopped at a rusted metal grate about a hundred yards from the hole, knocked it out and jumped down into the shin-deep water.

“That was simultaneously the easiest, yet most revolting escape possible,” Jason said once she’d kicked out the grate blocking the exit out and they breathed fresh air.

We’re not escaped yet. Esmail won’t be far behind us,” Shaw assured the group. “We’re going to need a lot more distance before I’ll consider us safe. Got anything for us on that front, Scarlett?”

Their stolen radios remained silent but the buzzing sodium-vapor lamp overlooking the outflow went out for a couple seconds before it started flickering. “She says to head this way,” Root said, walking off into the heat.

“That going to be it?” Shaw asked Root, trailing after her.

“She was using the same access as Samaritan to keep an eye on us at the prison; it’s gonna be back to minimal contact again.”

Shaw’s resisted the urge to sigh. She’d been spoiled by constant access to God mode. It would be good for her to have to look over her own shoulder again (though she hadn’t ever stopped, not really.)

Forty-five minutes of jogging got them away from the prison and the use of a shiny, hardtopped Jeep parked at the entrance to a desert hiking trail. Judging by the stuff in the footwells, they had liberated it from some tourists, almost certainly foreigners (Americans most likely) so she felt less bad.

With the Machine incommunicado again, Root deflated, staring mindlessly out at the landscape while the boys sat nervously in the back. Shaw dropped one hand from the wheel, running it along Root’s arm until she could twine their fingers together, palm to palm. Shaw caught the startled look Root shot her out of the corner of her eye but studiously ignored the heart-eyes Root sent her way after a moment.

That being said, Shaw didn't mind the quiet that much. It had been a while since she’d shared a living space with a partner, with a husband or lover, fifty years or more. Root was far from the worst roommate she’d ever had but even so, being forced to share a six-by-twelve box had been a little wearing.

She started heading east and then cut north across the desert about an hour later when Root roused just long enough to relay the Machine’s terse instructions.

She pulled onto a poorly-paved road fifteen minutes before arriving in a no-name, one gas station village a few minutes after midnight. Shaw parked behind a run-down strip mall with a thrift store and followed Root around to the back of the Jeep. Root pulled the top of her jumpsuit down and her white undershirt off.

Shaw’s eyes immediately darted to where the boys sat in the car, engine still running. “Root, this is not the time,” Shaw said shortly.

“Trust me, this isn’t that. This is for you.”

“Why are you giving me your shirt?”

“You need something to cover your face with when you break into the store to get us a change of clothes. Don’t know if the place has cameras but better safe than sorry.” Shaw grunted in agreement and wrapped Root’s shirt around her head in an improvised veil. She snapped the lock easily enough, gripping the knob and twisting with both hands. The store was completely open, shelves along the outer walls and racks of clothes filling the rest of the space. There were signs conveniently hanging from the ceiling to mark off the different sections which made it easy to collect what she needed.

Shaw shot the boys a glare when Daniel’s gaze dipped down to the extra cleavage Root flashed when she bent over to rifle through the pile of bags in the middle of the back footwell.

Shaw parked in the back lot of the third motel in a strip. They managed three rooms without much fuss, taking all of the cash and some barter scrounged from the Jeep. The Hilton it was not, but the springs didn't jab up through the mattress, so it was bearable.

Root arrowed in on the bathroom as soon as she was in the door, eager to wash the day off. She left the door to the bathroom open and the hiss of water sputtered to life a moment later.

Shaw threw their bags of stolen clothes on the foot of the bed. Root’s head and shoulders appeared between the door and the frame. “This place probably doesn’t have much hot water. You should hurry up and get in here before I use it all.”

She would do it too; Root never made idle threats. Shaw strutted over as Root backed up, letting the door swing open to reveal she had already stripped down.

Shaw stepped out of her pants as she crossed the threshold and curled her arms behind her to unhook her bra but not taking it off (because Root was adjusting the water temperature and not looking so what was the point?)

Shower stalls are not her favorite place to fuck, usually resulting in as many accidental bruises as orgasms but the sight of Root standing there, bare as the day she was born, one hand measuring the water and hair cascading down her back in those luxurious curls… The embers of desire that had been smoldering in the pit of her stomach for the last few days roared into a bonfire of lust.

“See something you like?”

Shaw started, realizing that she’d been staring and judging from the smirk curving Root’s lips, she’d been caught at it.

“Shut up. You’re hot; we both know it.”

“Well as a certain someone once said, ‘a girl can appreciate a little appreciation every once in awhile.’”

Shaw was sure she bent the hooks in the clasp as she jerked her hands roughly in order to get her bra off. Root’s smirk remained firmly in place when Shaw pushed her back into the stall, her head thumping dully against the tiles. Root’s smirk didn’t waver though and that just made the fire burn hotter.

Root opened her mouth to utter another of corny one-liner but Shaw rushed up to push it back between her lips with a kiss. The water coming out of the showerhead was still cold and barely arced out but she didn’t notice. Root wouldn’t have been surprised if the water flashed to steam when it hit their bodies given the way Shaw flattened her against the shower wall. The hot water suddenly kicked in and she wasn’t sure whether it was the hand on her breast or the shock of steam that stole her breath, but either way, it was the fingers between her legs that made her see stars.

Root was vaguely aware that two of the boys had a room on the other side of the wall their bed was up against, but when Shaw threw her down against into the mattress, she couldn’t give a flying fuck. Shaw’s tongue and teeth left little sparks of mind-blanking pleasure, tracing a winding trail from the corner of her mouth all the way down her body. The hand pinning her wrists above her head was like handcuffs, the other alternately caressing and pressing little spots of pain-pleasure into her skin.

She passed out somewhere around her sixth orgasm. (Or so she guessed; she lost track pretty quickly.) The sheets were sodden with sweat and other fluids as she floated off but she could barely twitch a finger, so she marked it as something for tomorrow!Root to deal with. She’d never slept so well in her life.

:\\\

Root woke up in the morning feeling thoroughly wrung out and simultaneously still buzzing with afterglow. The other side of the bed was empty but warm, Shaw nowhere in sight but the light shone from the bathroom. “Shaw!” She shifted slightly and immediately regretted it, her muscles still burning and sore. “Shaw! Help! I think you broke me!”

She called again, frowning when Shaw still didn’t answer. Root slid from under the sheets and padded gingerly across the industrial carpet to lean in the doorway. Shaw is peering into the mirror closely, examining the hairline of her temple. “Something the matter?”

‘I have a gray hair.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Shaw said, glaring at Root through the mirror. “Don’t be dumb.” It’s an effort to keep her eyes on Root’s face but she does so, intent on not letting Root distract her with her nudity.

“Let me rephrase. So?”

Shaw’s brows furrow, look taking on an edge. “I’ve been thirty for, well, basically forever. I’m with you for a week and now I got gray hairs.”

“Some women consider gray to be sexy,” Root said, arching a brow.

“Maybe on George Clooney or Brad Pitt. It’s just old on anyone else.”

Root closed the distance between them, pulling Shaw’s hand down from her temple and resting her chin on the crown of the shorter woman’s head, arms wrapped around her waist, both staring into the mirror. “Sweetie, a little gray is nothing to fret over. It adds character.”

Shaw turned in her arms, eyes narrowing. “Character? Sounds like you’re calling me old.”

“Are you going to question me every time I give you a compliment that could possibly, maybe be an insult if you turned it on its head and squinted at it sideways?”

“Only when you give you give me compliments that could maybe, possibly be an insult if you turned it on its head and squinted at it sideways.”

“You are the literal worst,” Root said with a half-groan, half-laugh.

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Shaw said, hiding a smirk as she slipped out from between Root’s arms.

Root leaned against the edge the edge of the sink, following Shaw out after a few seconds. The other woman was stuffing their bag with the detritus of the previous night’s fuckfest. It was still early; the alarm Shaw had set wasn’t due to go off for another twenty minutes but there was no reason to linger longer than necessary. Root left Shaw to keep packing while she went to rouse the boys. It wasn’t yet six a.m. and she immediately regretted stepping outside in just her shirtsleeves as her breath steamed in thick clouds. She hopped in place while she waited for the boys to answer their doors.

Root felt a twinge of guilt when Daniel answered his door, looking quite bleary. His look morphed to one of mild irritation after he rubbed his eyes clear.

“Get your stuff together, we’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.” Daniel grunted, closing the door without a word.

“The boys ready?” Shaw asked as Root shut their door behind her.

“Will be in a few. Got any idea how we’re gonna get across the border? She says He had our plane impounded.”

Shaw grunted, shoving the last of their belongings into the bag and zipping it up. “I might know a coyote that could smuggle us across. He owes me a favor or three.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“1989. I was freelancing for some fairly dangerous people based not far from here who had contracted his services as a smuggler. We did our job and then they decided we were… superfluous.”

“That was stupid. Did you leave any of them alive?”

“Ever heard of the Martinez Cartel?” Root shook her head. “Well, now you know why. Anyways, he managed to stay close enough to me during my dismantling of the group that he made it through mostly in one piece.”

“That was almost thirty years ago. You sure he’s still alive, let alone smuggling?”

“He was like, twenty-two or something at the time. And around here, crime isn’t something you just quit. Especially with the crews that run this part of the country.”

“Do you know where to find him?”

“Most of the smuggling in this part of the country is run out of Nogales. If he’s anywhere to be found, it’ll be there.”

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon by the time they pulled out of the parking lot, Daizo, Casey and Jason going back to sleep while Shaw leans her head against the window, catching glimpses of the speeding landscape as her eyelids drift downwards.

“So what was it like, being a pirate?” Root asked without preamble.

Shaw cracks her eyes, giving Root a sidelong glance before sitting up. “You been thinking about that much?”

“Only every free second.”

“Fun,” Shaw answers after a moment of consideration. “Profitable. Insanely dangerous. Just about the most dangerous profession, I can think of, then or now.”

“Seems like it. Doesn’t seem like you’d have a great deal of control of things when you got cannonballs flying at you.”

Shaw smirked. “Taking a prize is the least dangerous part of sailing under the black. Want to know why Anne Bonney never tried to captain her own ship?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Politics. Unlike military or merchant crews, most pirate crews were democratic, even anarchic at times. Everyone had an equal share in the ship and prizes. Captains were elected by the crew and your captaincy was dependent on the whims of your crew, their perception and opinion of you. A successful pirate captain was one who took rich prizes with minimal loss of life. Pirate crews could be… mercurial. And even the most successful captains could fall prey to the bad humor of their crews. Sometimes all that stood between a man and command of his ship was a single prize.” Shaw shrugged.

“And what about the Pirate’s Code? I thought there was some provision in it about mutineering?”

Shaw shook her head. “Adherence to the Pirate’s Code, any of them, is pure fantasy. Every crew worked out their own ship’s articles before they signed on with a new captain. Even then, articles were only worth the paper they were written on as long as the captain kept the confidence of his crew.”

“What was it like being a woman pirate? There couldn’t have been much privacy on a ship.”

“Modesty was pretty pointless,” Shaw agreed. “And it really wasn’t that different than being a man, for me at least. Jack made sure his crews knew that I wasn’t to be touched without permission.”

“That seems unlike you, letting someone else speak for you.”

“It was a different time, different me. Besides, I made sure that they knew no meant no pretty quickly.”

“Oh yeah?” Root asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Shaw looked back over her shoulder to make sure the boys were still asleep before she continued. “Yeah. I may have made a ‘gotta beat me to fuck me’ rule.”

“I almost want to say that’s not very fair but then I think about you sleeping with someone else and I want to punch them.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Yeah, only downside to that was I got promoted to quartermaster right after that.”

“I don’t follow.”

Quartermaster had two main responsibilities; keeping the crew happy, healthy and fed and leading boarding parties.”

“That makes sense I guess.”

“Annoying is what it was,” Shaw growled. “The crew got way too much pride and amusement out of being the only ship with a female quartermaster. Not to mention that the quartermaster was a one-man HR department.”

“I would’ve thought you’d make your crew settle their own differences.”

“I tried that. Our bosun got into a… dispute with one of the deckhands and got stabbed.”

“And I take it that was really bad?”

“Bosun is the guy in charge of keeping the ship running, managing the sails, rigging, stores…”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I made sure the crew only bothered me with important stuff, but it was still annoying.”

“Couldn’t you have just said no to being quartermaster?”

“Trust me when I say pirate crews generally have a habit of getting what they want. There are a lot of reasons why someone might turn pirate but having a problem with authority is usually high on the list. So the crew voted me quartermaster and refused to hold another election when I said I didn’t want the job.”

“That must have been just terrible.”

“Doubly so because I couldn’t even reveal myself properly.”

“How come?”

Shaw gave Root a considering look before answering. “I may have been running from a papal death warrant.”

“What?”

Shaw sighed. “I’d been working in the Papal States as a hitter and fixer. I killed a couple nobles around the peninsula and maybe a cardinal or bishop or two. The Inquisition somehow figured out what was going on and who I was and started looking for me.”

“So? Couldn’t you have just faked your death or something?”

Shaw shook her head. “The Roman Inquisition had known about us Pillars for a while so if I’d let myself get caught I would’ve spent the next hundred years getting my skin peeled off or something.”

“I’m glad you got away then. I’d hate to think of anyone marring your beautiful skin,” Root said, running a hand up her arm. Shaw shook her head and turned to look out the window, but let Root’s hand stay where it was. The clock on the dash read 10:11 when Root pulled off the highway, cruising by a string of fast food restaurants.

“Hey, we’re stopping for breakfast. Have a preference?”

Shaw cast her gaze about and pointed to the Chick-Fil-A behind them. Root turned the Jeep around and pulled into the drive-through. Shaw leaned over Root to convey the group’s orders in Spanish when Root gave her a ‘well, waiting on you,’ look. Root paid out of a wad of crumpled ones and fives, passing the bag to Shaw to split the food up.

“Where’d the money come from?” Shaw asked a minute later through the two spicy chicken sandwiches she crammed in her mouth.

“Pickpocketed some schmuck at the gas station when I refilled.”

“How much we got left?”

Root fished the balled-up bills out of her pocket for Shaw to count. “Thirty-eight dollars. Should be enough to get us to Nogales. Probably gonna have to refuel at least once in this guzzler. Couldn’t you have stolen something else when you were gassing up?”

“We’re trying to stay under the radar, Sweetie. A string of car thefts is just the kind of thing that Samaritan could use to track us. Besides, this thing is completely analog, no Bluetooth, GPS, nothing trackable.”

Shaw grunted in acknowledgment of her point. The three men in the back seat got into a hushed argument as Shaw crumpled up the last of her wrappers and threw it out the window. “So you guys wanna tell me what you‘re whispering about back there?” Shaw asked, twisting in her seat.

Daniel and Tatsuro threw a final round of rock-paper-scissors before Daniel grinned at his win. “We was wondering,” Daizo began slowly. “What… who are you? We saw what you did in the prison. You did not move as woman should. Daniel, Jason and me have been debating where your powers come from.”

“And?”

“I think you find that spear somewhere and it give you powers. Danny think you make a deal with spirit.”

“So what do you think?” Shaw asked Jason.

“I think you’re either a mutant or a mutate.”

“Translation?” Shaw asked Root.

“He thinks you’re either Jean Grey or the Invisible Woman.”

“Not a sixteen-year-old boy here. I know who they are but still not getting the reference.”

“Mut _ants_ like Jean Grey and Wolverine are born with their power, mut _ates_ get their power from accidents and experiments, like the Fantastic Four and Spider-Man.”

Shaw grunted. “Well, Casey’s got it the closest. Long story short is that I was in a bad way a very long time ago and was… given something that lets me do the things you saw.”

“You mean your spear,” Daizo said.

“Yeah, my spear,” Shaw agreed.

“And what about Esmail, what’s his deal?” Daniel asked.

“You already know everything you need to know; obsessive bastard who can’t take no for an answer. He’s the most dangerous man you will ever meet. The last one you will piss off too, so try not to attract his attention. Like at all, because he likes people less than me and will kill you as easy as breathing. You’ve seen a bit of what he can do. Trust me, that was only scratching the surface of his capabilities.”

The three guys nodded at her utterly serious expression. “You make it sound like we should expect to see him again.”

“Like I said, he’s more than a little obsessed with me. You hang around and it’s a question of when, not if.”

“So what should we do if he does turn up?”

“Run. If you’re lucky he won’t be there for you.”

“And if he is?”

“Then I’m sure it will be a nice funeral.”

“Shaw,” Root said disapprovingly. “They get it, you don't have to beleaguer the point."

“No they don’t and sugar-coating it won’t do anyone any favors.”

“Yeah, we get it. He’s dangerous, stay away from him,” Jason said, a hint of irritation edging his tone.

Shaw grunted and turned back around in her seat. “Whatever. You’ve been warned. Wake me when you need directions.”

:\\\

Nogales was much like one would expect of a mid-sized, Mexican border town. The roads were in better repair than the desert highway with strip clubs next to grocers and laundromats.

“How do we know where to find this friend of yours?” Root asked.

“Coyotes aren't hard to find around here. Plus I called the Sumir and had the Spyglass do its thing. Most of the skin and drug trade is run out of a club called the Honeytrap.”

“Subtle,” Root groused.

“It’s Mexico. Subtle is rarely the point.”

“You weren’t kidding,” Root commented a minute later when they rolled up on the Honeytrap. It was a single-story building, edges lined with neon that flowed into a giant glowing honeysuckle flower in place of a name. The interior was all silky velvets and soft red lighting, nearly circular booths lining the walls with single-occupancy tall tables filling the space between the booths and the stage. The place almost looked more like a brothel than a strip club, which was probably the point. The bouncer let the five of them in with barely a second glance and Shaw waved the boys off to a booth while she and Root took stools at the bar.

 _“I’m looking for the Hare,”_ she said in Spanish before the bartender had a chance to ask for their drinks.

_“You’re in the wrong bar then, gringa. Nobody here by that name.”_

_“Of course not. But why don’t you go in the back and tell your boss the Puma is here for him.”_ The bartender considered her for a moment. Flagging a hostess down to take his place behind the bar, he ascended a single flight of railless stairs around the corner.

“Did you just call yourself the Puma?” Root asked, eyes sparkling with a choked-back laugh.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “This part of the country is basically the Wild West. You’re not a proper criminal unless you have some ridiculous nickname no one actually uses.”

“You’re gonna tell me the story behind that, by the way.” Shaw just grunted noncommittally.

The bartender returned about ten seconds later with a man in tow. He was slender, wiry, five-nine or five-ten with a close-cropped, evenly salt-and-pepper beard. His mouth widened into a grin as his arms spread, rounding the bar for a hug. Shaw allowed him to embrace her, patting him on the back twice before extricating herself from his grip.

_“Marisol! What are you doing back in my part of the world? You said that I would never see you again after you saved my life.”_

_“Never planned on being back, honestly. Only reason I am is because I need help getting into the States.”_

_“I heard about what happened in New York. I thought to myself, ‘that can’t be Marisol, she is far too young, but I see that you’ve barely aged a day since the last I saw you.”_

_“What can I say, I’ve aged gracefully.”_

Root ordered a daiquiri and looked on in silence as the pair continued to jabber in Spanish. The man Shaw had called the Hare got up after another ten minutes of discussion, returning up the stairs.

“So?” Root asked.

“He’s moving a shipment up for us. We leave in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to leave at night?”

Shaw shook her head. "Border can't be crossed at night, at least not in this area. Border Patrol has IR drones and cameras covering the area now. No, he's going to get us across with the rest of the illegals, across the desert."

"Sounds like fun."

Shaw snorted. “We're gonna spend the whole day hiking across the desert. When was the last time you spent any time in the wilderness? That's what I thought, " she said when Root didn't reply." And you are gonna need to cover up. You're gonna fry like lobster with your skin. I don't envy you growing up in Texas."

“I didn’t usually spend enough time outside for that to be a concern.”

“Somehow not a surprise. Just do what Miguel and I tell you and you’ll be fine.”


	30. Renaissance Woman

The being known as Sameen Shaw knew that something was going on as she and Root arrived at the subway station when Reese and Finch stuck their heads out of the subway car.

Shaw eyed the pair suspiciously as she took a bite out of her bear claw. "Something's up; what's going on?"

She paused in the doorway of the cab and stopped. “Oh,” she said succinctly as she took in the news reports that were on all the monitors. Her and Root’s faces were plastered over them, the anchors rehashing their Mexican escapades.

“Ms. Shaw, Ms. Groves-” Finch began.

“Well, that’s not much of a surprise. Samaritan was hardly gonna just let us go after Mexico.”

“True, but I don't think confining either of you to the subway like last time is going to work this time though.”

“You can be sure of that,” Shaw growled, shooting an especially sharp look at Root.

“You can hardly blame me for trying to keep you safe. Besides, you could’ve revealed that you’re immortal at any point as well.”

“In either case, our next number is one ideally suited to your fame at the moment.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that Richard Harris is a billionaire with something of a passion for the Middle Ages is the founder of Knight’s Age **,** a medieval reenactment company dedicated to ‘historically faithful, realistic medieval recreation.’ This weekend is ‘Renaissance Revival.’”

Shaw’s frown intensified into a full glare at the trio.

“Root and John got this. Call me when the next number pops," Shaw instructs, pivoting on her heel to head back the way she came. Root rushed out after her, calling her name. “Forget it Root. I don't do that kind of shit.”

“May I ask why not?” Finch asked, stepping from the car.

Shaw’s sighed and rolled her eyes. “Take a wild guess. I don't care how ‘faithful’ these guys are; they get almost everything wrong and it’s annoying.”

“Oh come on, sweetie. Do it for me. Please?”

Shaw paused and considered. “You just want to see me swing a sword, don’t you?”

Root’s grin threatened to take in her ears. “Let’s just say that you’ve given me a new appreciation for medieval reenactment.”

“Fine, _cuebiyar_. But you owe me. Big time.”

“I am sure that I can think of some ways to show my gratitude,” eyes getting smokey at Shaw’s use of her pet name.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Trust me, you will. Now come on, if we’re gonna do this thing, we’re gonna do it right.”

:\\\

“Have I ever mentioned how I like playing dress-up, Sweetie?” Root asked as Shaw stepped out of the cab of the truck she had borrowed from the Hotel. She had directed Reese and Root to meet her at the fairgrounds separately, the three of them making sure nothing happened to their number while she got their costumes together. Finch was remaining in the city as there wasn’t likely to be much use for his technical expertise and Fusco would be attending as a regular visitor.

“No, can’t say I’d’ve ever guessed that,” Shaw replied as dryly as she could, walking around to the back and dropping the tailgate of her pickup. The other three were left staring as Shaw hopped up. She had filled the truck bed with several brass- steel- and gold-banded chests as well as one barrel.

“What is all this?” John asked.

“Actual period clothes. Root, I don’t have much that’d fit you, but I was able to find one or two things that wouldn’t leave you indecent.”

“And what about me?” Reese asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, I have some stuff for you too. Gimme a minute to get Root dressed and I’ll show you your costume.”

“’Get me dressed?’” Root repeated with an arched eyebrow.

“Yup. Unless you think you can tie a corset up yourself?”

Reese was left to wait and listen as Shaw and Root disappeared around the other side of the truck. Judging from the breathy sounds Root kept making, whatever Shaw had brought for her required some elbow grease to get her into.

Root was not what anyone would call voluptuous, yet the dress Shaw had manhandled her into definitely gave her a figure she hadn’t possessed previously.

“These kinds of things are always looking for more fighters and serving wenches so you can be my squire.”

“Why can't I be the knight?” John asked.

“Have you ever held a sword before?” Reese shook his head. “That’s why then. And none of my armor would fit you. Unless you think you can find a breastplate stretcher?” she waited for John to sigh and grinned. “That’s what I thought. Now go put these on.” Shaw withdrew a pair dark green hose.

John frowned. “I don’t think I need a costume.”

“Nonsense. It’s a Renaissance Fair, John. You _have_ to have a costume.”

Reese sighed and took the pants. “What is this on the chest?” he asked, picking at the embroidery on the left side. It was a red-and-gold viper with fangs extended, wrapped around a silver spear on a field of tan.

“My coat of arms, of course. Or one of them at least.”

Her strength had always been in her speed, so her suit was light, a mail coif, studded leather cuirass and faulds over a chainmail shirt, half-vambraces, steel-backed leather gauntlets, boiled leather pants, and boots.

Shaw led the group onto the fairgrounds proper once they were all kitted out, allowing the gate guard to peace-tie her sword.

“Are one of you Richard Harris?” Shaw asked the eight men that were milling about the staging area Shaw was told that the knights used.

“I am,” a tall, redheaded fellow answered from the other end. He was clad in a Scottish half-suit of armor, plate protecting his torso, a studded leather kilt, burnished and lightly gilded helm. “Why are you, fair lady?”

Shaw snorted. “First of all, I am pretty much the opposite of fair, so don’t use the word if you don’t know what it means and second I am here for a job.”

“Actresses are four stages down. Ask for Denise.”

Shaw gave Harris a flat look. “Does it look like I am here to be a noblewoman or serving wench?” She asked him, gesturing at her garb.

“I suppose not, but we are full up on fighters for the moment.”

“How about a wager then? Any of you make me surrender, I will go find a dress. I win, I get to pick my part.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not sure any of us would feel comfortable fighting you. This stuff can be dangerous.”

“Alright, let’s sweeten the pot then.” Shaw fished her wallet out of a pocket and withdrew a fistful of twenties.

“To anyone who beats me,” she said as waved it in the air.

Harris sighed. “Fine, but I’m not responsible when you get hurt.”

She debated between winning gracefully or being a bitch and showing off for Root for a moment as she hopped the fence and untied her sword belt, hanging it on one of the posts.

She grinned as several of the men scowled at the gesture. “Well this is going to be short,” one of the men said with a chuckle.

“Last chance to back out, ma’am. Or pick up your sword.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” she replied casually, waving him off. “I’ll just take yours when I need it.” Harris scowled and approached, drawing his claymore. Shaw decided to go the whole nine, folding her arms behind her back and waiting for him to strike first. He started out in a high guard, the weight of his sword meaning he would probably rely on momentum and inertia to conserve his stamina. Striking in a telegraphed downward chop, he redirected it into a horizontal cut that forced Shaw to dance back two steps. He didn’t give her much breathing room, either irritated by the insult or taking seriously the skill implied by the abandonment of her sword. He followed her with a step faster than a walk but slower than a jog, keeping his greatsword in constant motion.

While Harris’ swordsmanship was undoubtedly fresher, he had a score of years training at best; she had been doing this when the Romans were feeding Christians to lions.

Shaw waited until his frustration started showing, scowl intensifying and throwing more strength into manipulating his weapon. Waiting for another sweep to pass, she darted in, just slow enough for him to start to redirect his weapon. Shaw ducked and threw herself into a sideways roll under Harris’ reversed cut, grabbing the upper half of his crossguard and punching him in the chest as she yanked on his sword. She struck just shy of her full strength, knocking him flat on his ass as his sword dug into the earth behind her.

“That-”

“Killed you,” Shaw interrupted, stepping lightly on his chest. “Which is all that matters. Now do you give up or do you want to try again?”

She stepped away and let him reclaim his sword. He jerked his head sideways at her and at one of the other men to join him in attempting to corner her and force her to submit.

Backing into the center of the ring, Shaw rolled her shoulders and hopped in place a couple times, her adrenaline response finally kicking in. “You ready for me boys?” she asked with a grin. Not waiting for an answer she dashed at Harris’ partner, closing the ten feet between them with unexpected (but not inhuman) speed. He wore a full suit of armor like Harris, wielding a longsword in one hand and an iron-bound, oak-plank round shield strapped to the other.

He raised his blade to fend off her attack but Shaw slipped inside his guard and laid a hand on his wrist. She fluttered her lashes and smiled at him for a moment and struck him in the throat, groin, and the bend of his elbow. Giving him a two-handed shove to knock him to the ground, she snagged his sword out of the air, grabbing the edge of his shield and tugging it off his arm as well.

"Dead," she informed him as she laid the point of her borrowed blade at his throat. Whirling around to point it back at Harris, she asked, "ready to take me seriously now? Come on, everyone, those Benjis have to be earned.”

The remaining actors drew their weapons and encircled her. Shaw rolled her shoulders and grinned. The fair attracted its share of medieval enthusiasts and there was bound to be at least one serious student of the sword other than Harris in their ranks.

Shaw didn’t give them much time to come up with a strategy, charging the armored man in front of her as they formed up. Lunging, Shaw thrust at his belly, her attack swept away by a down-parry. Shifting her momentum, she cut an X in the air, spinning around in a horizontal cut and then taking her blade in both hands and finishing with a brutal overhand chop that sent her target sprawling.

Shaw felt someone move up behind her, so she speared her left foot back in a reverse kick. It landed squarely on the boss of a shield but slowed her attacker for a moment nonetheless. She spun to face him, leading with the edge of her appropriated shield to knock his out of the way, a reverse chop to clear his blade and a mule kick to knock him down. She tapped the side of his helmet with the point of her sword to ‘kill’ him and rolled forward over the ‘corpse.’ She stayed low and placed her shield-hand on the pommel and thrust upwards under the fifth fighter’s guard, instantly ‘killing’ him with the point to his throat.

She felt the remainder of the actors reassess her when she took down three of their number in barely twice as many seconds.

“Come on boys, is anyone gonna even try for the money?” she asked.

The remaining three exchanged looks before focusing on her. The sixth was wearing a full suit of plate and wielded a flail that he held correctly. He shifted into a middle guard, holding the chain halfway between the two-foot haft and the unornamented steel sphere. Taking two heavy steps he threw an underhanded swing, forcing her backwards as the seventh, a blond man with a blunted morning star and kite shield and the eight, a chainmail-clad noiret wielding a two-handed bearded axe herded her back towards the fence. Of the three of them, the one with the ball-and-chain was probably the most dangerous, what with how the weapon could strike from oblique angles and behind her shield.

Six advanced implacably, his flail in constant motion, getting faster the longer Shaw backed away. He wasn’t a big man, five-ten at best but judging by the ease with which he threw his weapon around, conditioned. Stopping the weapon outright was not going to happen without damaging something, so she would have to work with the limitations his armor imposed on him, including how the narrow slits in his greathelm restricted his field of vision.

Sliding in close after the ball rotated away, she tried to knock him off balance with a kick to the inside of his knee and bring him down. Six caught the whirling head of his flail and stretched the chain, catching her chop and looping the links around the blade in an eyeblink. He transitioned from the loop-throw into a hard tug that sent her blade sliding across the dirt. While the move left her disarmed, it also left him completely open to the low knee that knocked his foot out from under him and dropped him flat on his face.

Shaw continued her rotation, twirling to her feet just in time to catch the bar of Seven’s mace on the edge of her shield. She drew back to duck under the jab Harris threw at her from the side as he rejoined the fight, raising her shield to block when he turned it into a cut. She pushed out, putting him off balance and swinging sideways with her shield to buy herself a second of breathing room. The other three didn’t hesitate, closing in to keep her from taking Harris out again.

She decided to be patient this time; rushing them and taking them out one by one was effective but hardly challenging. Eight stepped in with lunging chop she had to dance away from, Harris following closely swinging wildly forcing her to the left into Six and Seven who kept their shields up and together. Shaw spun to face the two bearing shields, taking two quick steps before springboarding off Seven’s shield and vaulting through the air to land behind Eight and Harris. Shaw reclaimed her lost sword as she landed in a handspring and decided it was time for her to end their exhibition. She deflected Harris’ predictable-but-effective sweep downwards, tapping Harris on the head as she flipped sideways through the air. Her opponents seemed to finally be adjusting to her unorthodox fighting style though as Eight blasted her face-first into the dirt, hitting her in the back with the flat of his axe as she landed.

“Nice shot,” she said as she kipped-up. “But as fun as this has been, I got other things to do today, so I’m gonna have to finish this.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she spun, flinging her shield at Six. It wasn’t as unexpected a move by this point as it otherwise might have been, but it still forced him to spin his mace into an awkward, off-balance upward swing that left him completely open. He tried to bring his shield up, but he was flat footed so he caught the pommel of Shaw’s hurled sword right in the middle of his helm. Shaw stepped over his chest, letting the ball of his flail tap him in the side of his head as she flung that as well. The weapon clanked off Seven’s shield but it left him blind, having time to do little more than blink before Shaw tapped him on the forehead when he dropped his shield.

“You’re an asshole,” Eight groused, disarming before Shaw had the chance to do it to him. “That is some next-level bullshit _wuxia_ crap you got going on there. I dunno where you learned that, but it wasn’t anywhere that had the smallest grounding in historical combat.”

“Sorry man,” Shaw replied without an ounce of contrition. “But there was no way I was gonna beat all of you unless I pulled out all the stops.”

“While I might have some issue with your style, I can’t disparage your skill,” Harris allowed. “That’s not something you acquire overnight. Regardless, a win’s a win. I won’t back out of our deal.”

:\\\

“So is it just me, or are they not holding back anymore?” Root asked one of the defeated men as Shaw tore her way through the fighters. She was in constant motion, not giving her opponents the chance to pin her down.

“No, they’re really going at it. Your friend is really good; we don’t find many people who can keep up with Rick, let alone Rick and the others.”

“She’s full of surprises,” Root agreed, her eyes locked on her partner.

“Know where she learned to fight like that?”

“She’s done a lot of traveling. Been everywhere, just about,” Root replied with a shrug.

“Well, she paid attention to her teachers. I’ve never seen anyone better than Rick and she just might be.”

“She is special.”

The man gave her a nod and hopped over the fence to help the men Shaw had thrashed as she finished the fight.

“So what’s the main act?” Shaw asked as the three of them helped some of the harder-hit fighters.

“We’re having a war. Participants declare for one of the factions and the conflict will play out over the weekend. There’s a tournament that’s supposed to broker a peace treaty but it will break down at a certain point and the participants will be tasked with getting them back on track. There’re missions like delivering messages and the like that the kids can do for the factions.”

“Hm. Any room for a Xena?”

“You got the moves for it, I suppose. Those your friends?” Harris asked, jerking his head towards where the team was assembled. She nodded. “Any of them as good?”

Shaw shook her head. “Root’s a pretty good actress though. John’s a cop, so he’s athletic but not skilled. He can play my squire.”

“We’re down a black knight since Fred said he couldn’t make it,” one of the other fallen fighters said. “An unknown swordswoman? That’s sure to get some interest. Not to mention how she’s probably good enough to win the tourney on merit if she’s half as good with a bow and lance as she is with a sword.”

“We’ll see. We’ll find George and Katie in a minute. We’re opening tomorrow; if we’re gonna be tweaking the script we need to get it done quickly. How would you feel about your lady-friend as your squire?” Harris asked, rounding on Shaw. “I assume John’s at least first aide certified? We could use another constable for grounds security.”

“That sounds like something that’s right up my alley,” John agreed.

“Jack, show John over to Security while we get Root a costume change. You’re a little overdressed for a squire.”

“I actually brought some stuff with me in my truck she could wear.”

“Well if it’s even close to the quality of what you’re already wearing… By the way, where did you get your gear? It’s as good as anything I’ve ever seen.”

“I made it. Apprenticed with a Greek guy for a while.”

Richard gave an appreciative nod. “And your swordsmanship?”

“That’s a longer story than we have time for right now.”

“I’ll have to see what I can do to change your mind about that but let’s just get you written into the script. Go get your stuff, there’s a road that circles around the grounds to the employees area.” He untied a white-edged red ribbon from around the hilt of his sword and retied it around Shaw’s. “This is your backstage pass. Ribbons with borders are cast, yellow are security, red, blue, gray and green will be for the factions and participants that pledge for them.”

"And what about me? I can't openly declare for a faction if I'm gonna be the black knight."

"You get black," Harris said. "You'll get a couple of them to hand out too if you can convince any attendees to declare for you. "

"Do I need to?"

"It's not required but Fred, our usual black knight, liked to have kids running around in his camp. Cheering for him in the tourney, squiring for him although you  got that covered.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“So, your squire,” Root said, grinning and bumping shoulders as they walked back to the parking lot.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Want to know what the first rule of squiring is?”

“Do tell.”

“Don’t annoy your master. And seeing as that’s pretty much every single time you open your mouth, why don't you just keep quiet to be on the safe side?” Shaw asked as she got in the driver’s seat.

“A girl could develop a complex if she didn’t know about our special connection.” Shaw brandished the beribboned hilt of her sword out the window when she reached the gate. The scriptwriters worked behind the fairgrounds, in an area with a trio of double-wide trailers parked in an area that looked half campgrounds, half outdoor theater. Their arrival didn’t go without notice, a red-headed woman with her hair braided over her shoulder approaching.

“Rick, these better not be new additions for the war,” the woman said as Shaw killed the engine, looking irate.

“Relax Katie, they don't need new storylines. This is… “

“Shaw,” Shaw supplied. “Dame of Darkness, and my squire, Root.”

“Of Rucking. Romping? Rutting?” Root picked up, looking thoughtful. “Wait, no, I got it, Root the Randy.”

Shaw turned and made a face at her. “First, squires don't get monikers. Second, rucking? What is that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. Let’s see you come up with a sex pun that goes with my name on the spot,” Root replied dryly.

Shaw smirked. “And here I thought you had all the puns on lock. I’m disappointed in you, Root.”

“We can’t all be as perfect as you, Sweetie.”

“Are you two always like this?” Katie asked, ire replaced by amusement. “Because if you’re dating, we could do something with that.”

Shaw and Root’s expressions immediately flipped, Shaw scowling and Root grinning. “That’s a really good question. I don’t know Sweetie, are we dating?”

“You gotta promise me to gag her when you kidnap her though,” Shaw said, ignoring Root.

“Who said anything about kidnapping, and if anyone was kidnapped, why do you assume she’d be the one taken?”

“One, I don’t do ‘damsel in distress.’ Two, it kinda ruins the mysterious badass vibe a black knight’s supposed to have if I gotta be rescued.”

“Debatable, but let’s set that aside for now. Rick says you brought some stuff with you?”

Shaw didn’t give an immediate answer, walking over to the back of her truck and dropping the tailgate. Hopping up and shoving one of the trunks to the edge of the bed with a kick, she popped the latches and pulled up the lid. “Yeah, I can work with this,” Katie said after a moment. When Root reemerged from the trailer Katie had taken her to, it was with her hair braided and coiled, looking like an extra from a Peter Jackson film. She wore a long-sleeved, forest-green tunic under a boiled leather breastplate. Her boots came up to just above her knees, not leaving much of her trousers visible below the heavy layered belt her axes hung from.

Root struck a pose, grinning when she caught Shaw giving her an appreciative look. “What do you think? Could I get a part on Vikings? Give Katheryn Winnick a run for her money, no?”

“Without a doubt,” Shaw said. “Now, who’s the one in charge of the story?”

“Not so fast. We need to alter your outfit as well.”

“How so? I guarantee you, my stuff is the closest you’ll see to something in a museum.”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about. You said it yourself, half the idea behind a black knight is nobody knows who he or she is. At the very least, you need a closed-face helm. And your armor, as it is, is less than intimidating.”

“I’ll be plenty intimidating when I wipe the floor with the rest of the contestants.”

“If you want to play the black knight, you need to look the part.”

“If you’re talking about getting my armor painted black or something, that only happened in the books and movies.”

“That’s not what she meant,” a new voice said. One of the men that had been lounging on the trailer steps stepped forward. He wasn’t much taller than Shaw, perhaps two inches or so with hair prematurely white or platinum blond, though his unlined face seemed to suggest the latter. “Most of our attendees will be the usual medieval fantasy geeks, or at least the ones who are gonna participate. There’s nothing we can do that’ll somebody won't guess, but we can try to keep them guessing. The longer we can do that, the better the payoff.”

Shaw grunted though she gave the silver-haired man a gimbal eye. “I do have some stuff that’s a little more concealing,” she allowed. “George, I take it?”

“Hveðrungr. And you’d be Shaw,” he replied, offering his hand. She took it and the pair spent a moment comparing handshakes.

“When you two are done measuring dicks, can we see the script?” Root asked.

The man called George smirked. “Sure, though it’s less of a script and more… guidelines. You’ll be told how a scene is to go and it’s up to you to get it there.”

“Improv. Yay,” Shaw said, expression shifting to one of displeasure.

“It’s not hard. Really, memorizing lines is more difficult than this. And besides, you seem like you’re up to the task.”

“Don't worry, we are,” Root assured him when Shaw showed no sign of doing so.

“Good.” He pulled a pair of folded packets out of his back pocket and handed them over. “Scene directions. We do four a day, not counting the actual tournament. First one starts at twelve and happen every two hours.”

Root accepted the script on Shaw’s behalf, tucking the papers into her belt. “Thanks. We should get to working on these ASAP if we’re gonna get it right.” Root grabbed Shaw by the elbow and pulled her away.

Shaw shoved her roughly up against a tree as soon as they were out of sight. Root didn't wait for Shaw to tug her down, wrapping her arms around the shorter woman and met her mouth eagerly.

“While I will never say no to an opportunity to kiss you, that’s not the reason I brought you out here,” Root informed Shaw when she let her up.

Shaw flushed then scowled and turned away. “Sweetie, no, it’s okay,” Root said, grabbing Shaw’s shoulder and turning her back around. “Is it really so bad to admit that you want to kiss me? Because I am one hundred and ten percent okay with that and I'm sure the boys won't have a problem with it.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” Root prodded when it was clear Shaw wasn’t gonna elaborate on her own.

Shaw continued to give her a half-hearted glare but relented after a second. “I don't do attachment, I don't do relationships and I sure as hell don't do girlfriends except I’m all of the above and its aggravating. I get queasy when I even think of anyone else putting their hands on you, even as an act. The others always said they couldn’t even think of anyone else once they’d found their Stele but I always just chalked that up to hyperbole.”

“So what are you saying?” Root asked, eyes practically glowing, mouth curved in that special smile that was reserved just for her.

“It’s not. Hyperbole, that is. We hadn’t… kissed since… this morning and it was making me itchy.”

“Itchy?”

“Itchy. Antsy. Prickly. I just needed to kiss you, _mio cuebiyar._ ”

“Needed to kiss me, huh?” Root husked. “That's a need I can definitely get behind. In fact, why don't we make sure you don't run out of kisses in the middle of something important, yeah?”

:\\\

Shaw waited patiently in the tent provided for her the next day as one of the tournament's contenders. She and Root were the only ones in the tent; Reese and Fusco being in the crowd assembling for the start of the tourney. “Find anything out about who wants to off Harris?” Root was saddling the destrier that had been loaned to her, Shaw supervising.

 _“I’ve been looking into his company and finances but everything seems to be on the up-and-up. No new business deals, ledgers in the black, no major debts.”_ Finch answered over the comms.

“So personal, not professional?”

_“Hard to say. He takes Knight’s Age almost as seriously as any of his business ventures.”_

_“So maybe someone is unhappy with their role?”_ Fusco asked.

Shaw grunted. “Nobody’s using sparring swords; the tourney would be a good way to off him and make it look like an accident. A fall can kill just as easily as an arrow. John? You got access to KA’s personnel files. Anything pop?”

_“There are several employees with notes in their file but nobody jumps out.”_

_“Well, if they’re gonna make their move during the tournament, it’s probably one of the guys in it. There’s zero cover out here for an ambush. Anyone takes a shot at him from the audience, I’ll have him.”_

A horn sounded outside before Shaw could reply to Fusco, signaling for the competitors to enter the list. Shaw swung into the saddle smoothly, adjusting her swordbelt and tucking the length of yellow silk that matched the sash that draped across her breastplate up into her turban so the only part of her visible were her eyes.

Shaw ducked her head as Root held the tent flap open for her. She had changed her outfit, with more leather and silk. She had changed her longsword out for a curved scimitar to compliment her Persian or Saracen look. Root followed,  taking her place with the other squires, below the raised platform where the VIPs were observing from.

“And finally, a last-minute entrant known only as the Knight of the Sands!” the Harris announced, playing the hosting monarch, voice carrying impressively far without any assistance. He wasn’t wearing his armor yet, clad in silks and a gilded crown.

Root stepped forward, waving Shaw’s flag as her partner gave a little half-bow and a flourishing salute to mixed cheers.

“Welcome, my lords and ladies, knights and dames. We are glad to have you here on this fine morning to witness this contest of the finest warriors in the land. While we are at peace, that peace is fragile and can break at any moment. That is why we hold this tournament today, so that peace may remain unbroken. At the end of this weekend, we will know who stands supreme.”

The ‘king’ stepped back, his ‘daughter’ stepping forward. “Your order will be determined by lots,” the ‘princess’ said, raising a hand. One of the squires to Root’s left stepped forward, offering numbered sticks.

Shaw glanced at her stick just long enough to note that she’d be participating in the third round of jousting before putting her head back on the swivel. Reese and Fusco had returned to the city overnight while she and Shaw had spent the night at the fairgrounds with Harris and the rest of the troupe. Root had been hoping that’d mean they’d be able to spend some time cuddling before they had to get up and get to work but Shaw had kicked her out of bed as soon as she’d woken.

They had used the time, well before the first guests arrived, to explore the fairgrounds and go through the equipment Harris kept on hand for the actors under the pretense of showing Root how to squire. In reality, Shaw wanted to check all the communal weapons and tack that was going to be used, making sure that none of the equipment had been sabotaged. There were a dozen different ways to endanger someone in a joust, from a cut girth strap or a loose horseshoe to a hollowed or sharpened lance.

Root had a pretty good idea of Shaw’s ability, but as usual in these situations, knowing and seeing were two different things. The other competitors were adequate horsemen directing their horses with reins and heels but Shaw never touched the leather straps, her mount seemingly responding to her thoughts alone.

She rode like water, horse and woman moving together. She nearly unseated her opponent on her first try, one of his feet coming entirely out of the stirrup and lance tumbling. Root smirked as she slotted the black flag in the hanger, signaling Shaw’s point. Her opponent almost missed entirely on their next tilt, barely clipping her shield as she knocked him off his mount.

“I hope I never get tired of seeing you beat the crap out of bigger men,” Root told Shaw as she caught her dropped lance.

“I don’t think that’s much of a risk. You’re almost as obsessed with me as Esmail is.” Shaw led her horse over to a trough between the VIP box and her tent, leaning back to watch as Harris squared up at the other end of the list.

“Obsessed? I’m not obsessed, I’m your soulmate. There’s a difference,” Root protested.

“Number’s out in the open,” Shaw announced, ignoring Root’s statement. “Time to look sharp boys. I see you, Reese,” she said, nodding to where he was in the box. “Fusco, where you at?”

_“Roasting my ass off on one these shitty wooden benches. You think a guy with all this money could afford some nicer seating.”_

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Lionel,” Root interjected. “You have plenty of padding to keep you comfortable.”

 _“Not enough,”_  he grumbled. _“Seriously, these benches could double for punishment.”_

“Then find somewhere to stand. You’re bellyaching is giving me a headache. Stop distracting us.”

Root was no real judge of such things, but Harris seemed to be evenly matched against his opponent, a knight with a blue surcoat worn over his armor. Neither landed a solid strike on their first pass, though Harris dislodged the other’s shield on the second. Their third resulted in a point for the blue knight, managing a particularly deft jerk of his shield that sent Harris’ lance swinging wide. Root tensed when Shaw did, pulling her horse’s head away from the trough.

“New lance,” her partner noted, watching as the blue rider swapped his weapon. “Could be it got damaged, but…” Root saw Fusco get up and start shuffling along the bench while Reese leaned over the railing but they would both be too far to do anything if the blue knight had anything nefarious planned.

Shaw leaped into her saddle as the riders closed in on one another, kicking her horse to a gallop as Harris and his horse went down. The blue rider hadn’t aimed his attack at Harris’ shield like he was supposed to but at the horse, the coronel of his new lance hiding a sharpened tip that gashed the animal along its side.

Harris was pinned under his mount, helpless as his enemy dismounted and drew his sword as the visitors and other actors watched in shock. The blue knight only became aware of her charge in the last second, jerking to one side so the tip of her lance glanced off his shoulder armor. She dismounted in a leap, her sword flicking out of its scabbard just in time to intercept her enemy’s.

The blue knight had been one of the fighters she had thoroughly defeated the other day and he had seemingly taken the lesson to heart, swinging at her wildly, recklessly, not giving her a chance for a breath or for her to gain her footing. She wasn’t left to fend for herself for more than a handful of seconds though, Root screaming and hurling a rock at him. Her aim wasn’t particularly great but it distracted him for a split second and that was all she needed. Slapping his sword with the flat of hers to knock it out of the way, then his hand to disarm him and a third to the side of his head put him on the ground.

The other actors and several visitors, Fusco among them, rushed the list, lifting the wounded horse up and pulling Harris out from under it. His hair was mussed from when his crowned helmet had come off and one of his greaves deformed but he didn’t look to be seriously injured, standing on his own after being helped to his feet.

Two men dressed in Harris’ colors came and pulled the blue-clad knight to his knees, removing his helm to reveal the second fighter Shaw had defeated the previous day.

“You have saved my life, Knight of the Sands. Uncover your head for me that I may look upon the face of my savior and properly reward you!”

Shaw shot a quick look around, but nobody else seemed to be acting suspiciously. Harris clearly wanted to play this off like it was all part of the show, although some people were still eying the wounded horse. She pulled the silk that obscured her face and dropped to one knee, laying her scimitar on the ground before her. Several onlookers gasped and a couple chuckled, clearly guessing that she was not what she outwardly appeared to be. “I did nothing that requires reward, Your Majesty, nothing any knight of true honor would’ve done in my stead.”

“Yet you are the only who acted. Saving a king’s life is no small feat; the reward for such should not be small either. Let us retire to my chamber and discuss your desires. Guards, strip this false knight and lock him in the stocks! Let all, both high and low see what happens to those who attempt regicide!”

Harris turned away, taking Shaw by the arm and practically frog-marching her to his tent. “So are you going to tell me what is going on or continue lying to me? I’m a businessman, I know a plant when I see one and there is no way you and your friends happened to attend Knight’s Age this weekend by chance. Who sent you? Are you with the insurance agency? Because I am not giving up Knight’s Age for anything. Knight’s Age fulls squarely under my policy’s recreational activities clause.”

“Slow down buddy, I’m not here with your insurance agency or anybody else.”

Harris narrowed his eyes. “Right. Listen Shaw, or whatever your name really is, I’m worth fifteen billion dollars. I run a company worth over a hundred billion. You don’t get to my position by believing in coincidences or the kindness of strangers, especially when that stranger is hands-down the best swordswoman I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen enough to know. So, would you care to try me again?”

Shaw rolled her eyes and flopped down in a nearby camp chair. “Ok, fine, I am with an… organization, but I swear we have no plans on you beyond keeping you alive past the weekend.”

Harris’ expression didn’t loosen, maintaining his expression of skepticism. “And how did you know I was in trouble? I have some of the best personal security in the world constantly monitoring threats against my person and caught a whiff of what happened a few minutes ago.”

“Can’t tell you that. All I can say is we aren’t going away until the threat is neutralized.”

“Are you saying I might still be in danger?”

“Possibly. Won’t know until we figure out who this guy is and why he wanted to off you. But that isn’t your concern.”

“A man tried to kill me; that concerns me. Look, I’m not ungrateful for what you did and I’m not trying to get in your way. Just don’t be like my usual security and try to keep me out of the loop.”

“Speaking of your usual security, where are they?”

“Back in the city. Knight’s Age is just about the only vacation I get nowadays and I’ve had to ban them from here to keep them from ruining it for me. I do this to get away from the real world; guys in suits and shades spoils the whole illusion.”

“Pretty dumb for someone as rich as you.”

“I pay for it, trust me. it costs me more to not have them here than when they’re actually guarding me with my company’s executive insurance policy.”

Shaw snorted. “If you say. Anyways, me and my friends will need to talk to the guy soon. We need to know if he was acting on his own or if there’s someone else out there that has it in for you.”

“Be my guest. I’ll make sure that he’s made available.”

Shaw’s response was cut off before it began when her earwig beeped and Root spoke. _“Hey Sweetie, we have a problem. Turns out the guy that tried to kill our number is already dead.”_

“You mean he has a death certificate? Not that uncommon for criminals to use identities of dead people.”

_“If only that were the case. Finch says that he has dental and photographic confirmation that Markus Crendraven died two and a half years ago.”_

Shaw froze, swearing under her breath. “Markus Crendraven, that’s his name? You’re _absolutely_ sure?”

 _“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Do you know him?”_ Root asked, voice rising in alarm.

“Yeah, Root, you could say I know him. He’s my son.”


	31. Questions of History

_Shaw froze, swearing under her breath. “Markus Crendraven, that’s his name? You’re absolutely sure?”_  
  
_“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Do you know him?” Root asked, voice rising in alarm._  
_  
“Yeah, Root, you could say I know him. He’s my son.”_

The comms went dead silent. “Your… son?” John asked at about the same tone and pace as Harris.

The being known as Sameen Shaw stepped towards the tentflaps, but turned and thrust a palm into Harris’s chest as he started to follow her. “Stay here,” she growled and left the tent.

“Not a chance, lady. I don’t care if this guy is your kid or not, he took a serious swing at me and I want to know why.”

“Back off Harris,” Shaw snarled, shoving him again. “He’s not a danger to you anymore so I’ll be taking it from here.”

That seemed to make him lose a step as she stalked away. She didn’t make it very far before Root caught up to her.

“Don’t say anything,” Shaw growled.

Thankfully, Root obeyed, simply slipping her hand into hers. She continued to say nothing when Shaw led her to an avenue along the edge of the fairgrounds.

“You know, I appreciate the gesture, Sweetie, but are you sure that this is really fair?” Root asked fifteen minutes later.

“Shut up, Root,” Shaw said as she drew the bowstring back to her cheek. “I’m winning you shit.” The bowstring snapped and the arrow thunked into place next to the other two, squarely in the bullseye despite the sabotage of the bow itself. “Besides, when have you ever cared about fair?”

“True. But there’s cheating and then there’s cheating.”

Shaw loosed her last arrow and gave Root a flat look. “If you keep complaining I’m gonna take those feathers back.” She accepted the blue-dyed feather that the archery stand owner offered her and held it out to Root with a cocked brow.

Root took the feather and tucked it into the band of her big floppy Musketeers-style hat she’d bought, along with the red, green, brown and purple ones already there from the jousting, the daVinci trivia, spear- and knife-throwing events Shaw had won.

“What’s dying like?” Root asked, slipping her arm into Shaw’s.

“You can be really morbid, you know? Why do you want to know about that?”

“I think it’s a pretty normal question. Who doesn’t want to know about the afterlife?”

“That’s not what you asked though. You asked about dying and that’s weird.”

“Just answer the question, Shaw.”

"Not that exciting, unfortunately. It’s darkness, mostly. Us Pillars don’t pass on, don't pass Go, don't collect $200. There’s a space between this life and the rest, an… emptiness, a void, or darkness beyond if you will. There are a number of poetic names for it but it’s not Purgatory or any of its equivalents. It’s closer to a coma than anything. I go to sleep with bullet holes and wake up with scars. There’s not much in between.”

“What about Heaven and all the rest?”

“For those that believe. Natural passage to the afterlife is for those who have something to pass beyond to.”

Root pouted. “That’s boring. No tunnels of light? No sucking pits of fire?”

“Sorry to disappoint. The afterlife of a Pillar is brief and bland.”

“So if you don’t have a soul, objectively speaking, what about you comes back with your personality and skills?”

“My body is the vessel that keeps the power from destroying everything around it. It’s what keeps my body maintained and turns on the lights.

Root didn’t say anything for almost a minute. “Where do you think you’ll go, we’ll go, when…”

“Not a clue. None of us really know what happens, where we go, if we go anywhere. People have crossed the boundary and come back, but nobody’s run into a Pillar living on the other side.”

“So how do you know there’s an afterlife at all?”

“Because I’ve met the guys that run it. I’ve seen several.”

“If you had to pick, which would you prefer to go to?”

“Valhalla would be my first choice.”

“And your last?”

“Elysium,” Shaw replied without a moment’s hesitation.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Very pastoral. Lots of food but boring otherwise.”

“Not a lot of firing ranges?”

“No, or anything really fun,” Shaw said with a shake of her head. “Lots of eating but not much else.”

“Yeah, doesn't sound like your kind of place.”

“You’d like Valhalla though. Nothing but feasting, fighting and fucking there.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and end up there when we kick the bucket.”

“Unlikely, but stranger things have happened I guess.”

“If there’s two things we got in spades, it’s strange and unlikely, Sweetie.”

Shaw smirked. “True. You’re strange enough for three people.”

Shaw led them to an open-air tavern, taking a seat in view of the platform of the pillory Markus was mounted on. John made his way over from the bar a moment later.

“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it,” Shaw said as Reese sat next to her.

“It’s not about your… Markus,” he said, changing what he was going to say at the last moment.

“Oh. This mean you’re finally ready to stop tiptoeing around me like you’ve been ever since the Hotel?”

Shaw could almost see the gears turning in his head. “Could you have saved Joss?” Reese asked without looking at her.

Shaw sighed, leaning back on her elbows. “If I had been there, maybe. Probably.  But Finch sent me after Fusco, if you’ll remember, on the other side of the city. Not even I can be in two places at once.” Shaw paused, eying him out of the corner of her eye. “But for what it’s worth, she was one of the best people I’ve ever known. She was a hero, in the classical sense, up there with the likes of Heracles, Jason, Odysseus. Orpheus, Perseus… all the monster-slayers and do-gooders. Had she been born a thousand years ago, epics would’ve been written about her.”

“She was the best of us,” he agreed.

“And not to cast blame, but I have to say,” Shaw continued after several seconds, “I’m not the one who decided we couldn’t trust the one person who could’ve told us what was about to happen.”

“In his defense, he had his reasons for not trusting me,” Root interjected. “I had been acting like a smug, arrogant bitch."

"Acting?" Shaw asked, eyebrow arching.

Root rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine, I _was_ a smug, arrogant bitch."

"I'll never understand why you defend the way he treated you. I'd never be able to forgive someone who just wanted to lock me up."

"It was necessary," Root said lowly. "I couldn't be what She needed me to be if I hadn't gone through what I did."

“It's still messed up. Not to mention we would have a lot less problems now if he was able to set his paranoia aside on occasion.”

"Fewer," Root corrected.

"What?" Shaw asked.

"Fewer is for nouns you can count. Less is for those you can’t."

"Are you seriously gonna be a grammar nerd? Does your nerdiness know no bounds?"

"Oh please. You have no room to be complaining about nerdiness. You almost drowned me the first time I recited the chemical formula for RDX."

"Are you blushing?" John asked. "I didn't think that was physically possible. Though that both is completely not surprising and tells me way too much about things I don't want to think about. Besides, I’m not sure you’re one to talk about trust. _Aurine_ ,” John said pointedly.

“You get to call me that once. Don’t do it again,” Shaw said, voice dropping in temperature and volume. “And I’m not saying that I’m any kind of paragon of honesty, but I had my reasons for not telling you what I really am. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes I do. I’m not an actual goddess, John. I don’t control fate or see the future. Knowing the truth about me wouldn’t have changed anything. The only thing I can say for certain is that nothing but wearing her vest would have saved Carter's life."

"Why didn't you tell us?" John asked after another protracted silence. "Why make us think you were dead after the Stock Exchange?"

Shaw sighed. "Because mortals who learn about the _immortalia_ don't tend live long. And if you repeat this I will strangle you in your sleep but I wouldn't have liked it if I had been the one to get you all killed."

"No threats for me?" Root asked.

"What would be the point? You will blab to anyone you want and I know better than to try to stop you."

John smirked which just kicked her irritation up a notch or two. "Why do you have such a hard time admitting you love her? Your feelings aren't exactly a secret."

"Yeah, Sameen, why can't you just admit you love me?"

"Haha no. This is not a conversation we're having."

"Why not?" Root asked.

"Because I don't want to."

"You can't just not talk about this."

Shaw turned to look at her, pointedly not saying anything.

"John?"

"Don't bother. We're not talking about it even if he leaves."

"Fine," Root said with an aggrieved sigh. "Then what about the other thing you don't want to talk about? Markus?"

"Whatever you want to do with him, you got the chance. I got Harris to agree to let us deal with him." Fusco sat down on the opposite side of the bench, behind them. He set a plate of turkey and a pint of ale down, only glancing in the direction of the pillory before eating. Shaw didn't say anything. "Do you have any idea what you want to do with him?"

"Not yet. That man has my son's name but not his face. This is Esmail and Samaritan. They are planning something, some way to take me out of the picture and he is at the center of it."

"Could he do something to take you out?" Reese asked.

"If it wasn't Samaritan and Esmail, I'd say no. Esmail is the first of us and Samaritan is an ascendant, open, unshackled AI and probably the smartest being on the planet. Between them... It's conceivable."

"Man has been trying to figure out how to remove us since the beginning. I think it will take more than a high IQ to work that problem out."

Everyone turned to look at the silver-haired man that sat next to Fusco. "Samaritan isn't just smart," Shaw disagreed, addressing the newcomer evenly. "Samaritan is intelligence without limits, without bounds, without checks."

"Everything has limits, Aurine. You of all people should know that."

"Hi George," Root interrupted, turning around on her side of the table and draped an arm across Shaw’s shoulders. "It is George, right?"

"To the uninitiated. But you can call me Elswit."

"What are you doing here?" Shaw asked.

"I'll admit, I panicked a little when I heard that Esmail found you again. You'd always had a special talent for angering him, and I didn't want to see his... Displeasure at you spill over into my life."

"Why would Esmail want to hurt you?" Root asked.

"I suppose I should thank you for not telling your friends about me," Elswit said, arching an eyebrow in surprise. "Or what we did."

"I've only told them what they needed to know. They didn't need to know about anyone other than me and Esmail."

"And you haven't mentioned me to him? Haven't given him any clue I might still be alive? I have a grave in New Jersey I would very much like him to continue thinking I'm in."

"You sound scared of him," Fusco said, mouth half full of food.

"No, I'm _terrified_ of him," Elswit corrected, holding up a trembling hand. "As you would be, should be if you had the faintest inkling of what he's capable of. The only good thing that's come of this weekend is learning that I've been bumped to number three on his murder manifest."

"But you said he thought you were dead," Fusco said. "Why would he still want to kill you?"

"I said there's a headstone with my name on it. We've all faked our deaths enough times that you don't count one of us out until they've been gone for at least a century. Last time I saw him was barely a generation ago."

"As enlightening as this has been, we still need to figure out what to do with this Markus character."

"I can talk to him if you can't," Elswit offered.

Shaw shook her head. "No, that would definitely put you back on Esmail's radar if you aren't already."

"This man, whoever he is, is likely to be a master of deception. Are you sure you can get what you need from him?"

"Doesn't matter. Anything he tells me will tell me something whether he means to or not."

"Will that be enough, if what you're saying about this Samaritan is true? Lies are my _domon_."

"You said you wanted to stay off Esmail's radar. Helping me question this guy is not a good way to do that."

"Won't matter what he learns as long as we kill him after," Elswit suggested.

"We don't kill unless it's absolutely necessary," Reese interjected.

Elswit raised an eyebrow. “And do you follow his rules?”

“Most of the time.”

“Tiresome and infantile. But they’re your friends.”

“Choosing not to kill isn’t infantile,” Reese growled.

“Of course it is. I don’t blame you for it; children think childish things.”

Reese tried not to bristle at the condescending tone and smile but it was difficult. "I'm hardly a child, I'm-"

"What, forty, fifty years old? Even the youngest of us has lived ten times as long as you. So actually, yes, you are a child. Now shut up."

"No, Reese is right," Shaw said, backing him up. "This guy could just be a stooge or a cut-out. He doesn't deserve to die just because Esmail used him."

"Oh, Aurine, I'd heard you'd wrapped your spear but I hadn't actually believed it. I've never acquired much of a taste for bloodshed but there was always a certain beauty in the way you killed not even Esmail could match."

"I'm doing things differently now. Starting with abandoning that name."

"I suppose I can understand that. What do you call yourself nowadays?"

Shaw pursed her lips, and suddenly regretting her words. "Sameen."

"Sameen what?" Elsewit asked, the beginning of a smile on his face.

"Sameen Shaw," Shaw replied after another long moment.

The smile morphed into a full grin. "I never thought you had much talent for wordplay but that is just delightful. If you change your mind about my help bring him to my trailer after sunset. I work better in the dark anyways."

“No,” Shaw said shaking his head. “You worked hard enough to get off Esmail’s radar. I’m not letting you risk that for something I can get someone else to do.”

“Fine, your choice. But I’m willing to help if you need it.” Elsewit got up and left without another word, leaving the rest of the group to look at Shaw. She pushed herself herself to her feet before anyone could follow up on Elsewit's comment.

Root, however, was not so easily deterred." Sweetie?" Shaw continued not-quite storming away, unsuccessfully attempting to tug her arm free when Root wrapped her fingers around her elbow. "Sweetie, what did Elsewit mean about your name being wordplay?"

"Elsewit is a liar. You shouldn’t believe everything he says.”

“And I might believe that if you weren’t sprinting off trying not to talk about it. It’s cute how bad you are at lying to me.”

Shaw stopped and spent a moment glaring at the taller woman. “If you ever repeat what I’m about to tell you, I’ll kill you and hope your next reincarnation is less annoying. _‘Samene sahaw’_ means ‘one who seeks the shadow.’”

“Well, it certainly is descriptive of you. If it meant ‘one who sips wine coolers’ I might understand why you’re running away again,” Root said, lengthening her stride to keep up as Shaw walked away.

“Shadow is… metaphorical in this case.”

“Oh. You mean as in…”

“Death. And as you seem to have developed a… thing about killing me…”

“I wouldn’t call not wanting to kill the only person I’ve ever loved a ‘thing,’ Sweetie.”

“I hate it when you say you love me.”

“Tough shit. Because I love you and I’m never going to stop reminding you of that fact.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to say anything. And really, I don’t need you to say anything. All I do need is for you to be right here, next to me.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to say anything to be mushier but then you do just that.”

“What can I say, it’s my talent,” Root husked.

Shaw shrugged her off. "I'm gonna go talk to this guy. Be ready to get out if I say."

Reese looked like he was about to say something but looked at Root and thought better. Root approached with a determined stride, not at all affected by the shorter woman's scowl.

“I need to talk to him alone and I need to be undisturbed.”

“I’ll make sure no one bothers you,” Root said. “Do you want it to be him? Markus?” she asked after a moment.

“If it is him, being back doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be on our side. We have no idea how he survived, if he has powers…”

Root sighed. “I don’t know why I expected anything else.  I’ll be right out here in case he tries anything.”

:\\\

“So are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to brush off my old skills and make you tell me?” Shaw asked from behind him.

It was shortly after sundown, Shaw having moved the stranger with her son’s name to one of the now-unused competitor’s tents. “I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me, Mother. I was so young when you disappeared.”

Shaw stepped around to the front and struck him across the face with the back of her hand. “You are not my son, and I am not your mother. Markus died four hundred years ago, so I’m going to ask once; how do you know his name?”

 _“Because it’s my name, Moiran. The one you and Paran gave me when I was born,”_ the man calling himself Markus said in the Golden Tongue.

Shaw froze at the words that should be alien to his mouth, the words that were confirmation that he was more than he appeared. “Okay, supposing you aren't lying, what are you doing here?"

"What do you think? Esmail found me. Told me what you've been doing since my father died."

“And so you decided to come here and try to kill Harris?”

Markus snorted. “I think we both know that if I wanted that redheaded William Wallace wannabe dead, he’d be dead. No, Esmail asked me to do him a favor, and I obliged.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “He wanted us out of the city. Why?”

Markus chuckled. “What makes you think I would tell you that?”

“Fine, then. When did you join up with Esmail? Last year? A hundred years ago?"

"Long enough I could confirm everything he told me. My father would be disappointed to see how far his queen had come down in the world."

Shaw's lips thinned. He certainly had Markus' attitude. She'd always found firstborn royals tended to be highly opinionated. She'd had enough of them.

"Try again, Markus' father was a cleric. He was the least violent, least hating man I've ever known."

"And that was quite the sell. Wow. If I were literally anyone else I probably would have believed that. Unfortunately, I remember my father cutting men's throats in the Great Hall. Or by the dinner table. Whenever he felt it was appropriate. Me being here means not even you can outrun your past."

Shaw had no good reply to that. Being... Educated by Esmail meant she could guess the sort of picture he would paint of her.

"What are you even doing with Esmail? He's the one who killed your father."

"Esmail never begrudged me the circumstances of my birth. He didn't even really blame my father for his attraction to you."

"What's Esmail’s plan here? Because unless you give me a really good reason not to, I'm taking you straight to the cops."

"It doesn't matter what you do. Esmail is so far ahead of you that you can't even conceive his endgame. So sure, arrest me, kill me, drop me in a hole, do whatever you want. There's nothing Esmail hasn't planned for."

"Markus... If it actually is you... Esmail will fail. Even if he beats us, he's not a ruler. He won't do what he has to stop me and that means he won't ever really win."

"And what makes you think I care?"

“There are few that are as hateful or callous as Esmail. I don't think even he could make someone as evil as him without much more time."

"You're making some large assumptions about me. "

"Possibly. We'll figure that out when we're somewhere secure." Shaw turned and ducked out of the tent. The team was waiting for her, unsurprisingly." I'm taking him to the Hotel. I have people there that can get the truth from him."

John frowned." Nobody wants to see this guy tortured about this."

"Speak for yourself," Root disagreed. "He's here because he's working for Esmail and I want to know why. He is working for Esmail, right?"

"He won't be. Not that he will remember."

"Shaw," John said carefully.

"Relax. He's not gonna get his fingernails pulled out. There are plenty of ways to question someone that doesn't involve physical harm."

Reese sighed. "Did he tell you whether he is the only threat to Harris?"

"He is. Esmail isn't a leader. There's only been a handful of us crazy enough to follow him. He'll have one more real follower, at most."

"These Pillar friends of yours have been popping out of the woodwork lately," Fusco said. "What?" He asked when everyone looked at him. "You said you had friends. You didn't say we were gonna meet all of them."

"I don't know. But it wouldn't surprise me at this rate," Shaw said with a shrug. "Regardless I'll take him out the back way and meet you at the Sumir. Get Finch and we can decide what to do next."

Reese pressed his lips in dissatisfaction. “Just wait until we get to the Hotel before you start interrogating him.”

“Sure, whatever. Just get out of here already. You too, Root.”

“I’ll ride back with you if it’s all the same.”

“Not a chance,” Shaw said with a shake of her head. "Ride back with Reese or steal something because you're not riding in the same vehicle as him."

"Why not? I figured I'd drive so you could focus on keeping him under control."

"I don’t need to ‘keep him under control.’ I’m just gonna knock him out and tie him up in the trunk. Go with Reese."

Root made eyes but Shaw just pointed at Reese’s retreating form. Root put her hands on her hips and canted her head. “You aren’t there when we get to the Sumir, I’m setting the Machine to find you.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “I’ll be there. Now get out of here.”

Turning back to the tent, Shaw stepped inside. “Have some more questions for me?”

“Yes, but they’re gonna wait a bit. Right now we’re going on a bit of a trip.” Walking around behind him, she untied him from the chair and kicked him behind the knee to wrap the rope that bound his hands around his throat.

Unfortunately, without knowing who Markus sourced his power from, the best she could do was tie him up and hope that he didn’t have any abilities that would help him escape. Wire or sedatives would be better to restrain him with, but she didn’t trust anyone who could keep an eye on him (or mind dying) while she went to find some. So she was left with rope and a sleeper hold.

She briefly considered simply killing him but dismissed the option. If he really was a Pillar, it wouldn't keep him down long enough to matter and if he wasn't she'd lose the opportunity to question him. She was going to get the truth, Pillar or otherwise.


	32. How the Law Dies

“Ms. _Shaw, Mr. Reese, thank God, I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”_

“What happened, Finch?” the being known as Sameen Shaw asked at the same time as Reese, Finch’s tone setting her on edge.

_“I’m not really sure how to say this other than to just say it, but Samaritan has assassinated the police commissioner and several of his deputies.”_

Shaw didn’t say anything for a few seconds, the import of Finch’s news sinking in. “How? When?”

_“Just over an hour ago. The commissioner was making an appearance at a cash-for-guns event and well…”_

_“His security should have been airtight for something like that; do you know how it happened?”_ Fusco exclaimed.

_“Reports seem to indicate he was assassinated by a man who was wearing some type of next-generation body armor. The commissioner’s protective detail say they fired almost a hundred rounds, none of which seemed to slow the assailant down at all.”_

“Brazen, even for Esmail,” Shaw commented.

 _“Seems perfectly in character for him to me, though,”_  Root disagreed.

 _“Though I gotta wonder what benefit there is to Samaritan killing the top cop in the city,”_ Reese said. _“Samaritan says that it’s all about law and order. Killing Taylor is not gonna make the city any safer.”_

_“It might in Samaritan’s view. This would hardly be the first time it has assassinated someone in a position of power in order to replace them with a subordinate, or someone it views as sympathetic to its goals, whether they know it or not.”_

Shaw rolled her eyes at Finch’s persnicketiness. “Do we know who’s the new commish?”

_“Michael Hodell was the Deputy Commissioner of Intelligence and Counterterrorism. He is conveniently at a counterterrorism summit in Boston.”_

Shaw grunted. “Is there any way to tell whether he’s a collaborator or just a pawn?”

_“I don’t think it matters much. If Samaritan wants him in power, he’s dangerous.”_

“True. At least tell me someone knows how this happened without the Machine warning us.” The line was silent for several seconds. “Root? You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

_“That’s because She doesn’t know. Still.”_

Shaw sighed. “This is getting really old, really fast.” Shaw thought for a moment. “Fusco, why don’t you head to the precinct and see if you can’t get yourself assigned to the investigation.”

 _“And me?”_ Reese asked.

“Probably gonna need you at the Hotel. Finch, you at the subway?”

_“No. The Machine has been quiet so I decided to try to catch up on some of Professor Whistler’s paperwork.”_

“Well, why don’t you head there and see if you can’t get a handle on this Samaritan stealth problem?”

_“I’ll be at the Hotel with you, Ms. Shaw. You need someone who will tell you when you are going too far while questioning Mr. Creundraven.”_

“Fine. Root-”

 _“Not a chance in Hell,”_ Root interrupted.

“Fine. Whatever. Just don’t keep me waiting.”

:\\\

“I dunno, it sorta does look like someone he could’ve grown up to be in two or three decades,” Neti said, cocking his head.

Shaw was on the tenth floor of the Hotel Sumir, watching the video feed from the camera she'd temporarily installed in one of the godsrooms, flanked by Neti and Semo Sancus. Screen sat in his rolling chair, eyes flicking across the grid of monitors arrayed before him.

Shaw gave Neti a gimlet side-eye. “So do a billion other people.”

“Just saying. He looks like he could be Markus.”

Shaw focused on a second display filled with the information the medical monitors attached to the man claiming to be her four-hundred-year-old son was being fed to. Her phone chirped and she glanced down at the screen. “Finch and the rest are here.”

“I will never understand why you continually choose to listen to this Finch character. He seems weak and indecisive,” Neti complained.

“He’s complicated. But hands down the smartest guy I’ve ever met. And occasionally has useful insight into a situation.”

Neti didn’t offer a reply but left to bring the team up. “I’ve been studying your friends. This Reese and Root seem reasonable but Neti is right about Finch. I don’t do back-seat interrogators.”

“I’ll keep Finch in hand. You just focus on getting me my answers.”

She didn’t look over when Finch, Fusco, Reese, and Root entered TechSight. “Before we start, we need to set some ground rules. Well, just one really. This is my interrogation. You’re here as a courtesy, Finch, nothing more. Feel free to contribute if you have a question, but I will have my answers one way or another.”

"I'm not trying to stop you, I just want to make sure you don't do something you will regret later. If this man does turn out to be your son, will you have a clear conscience with how you conducted this... interview?"

"Whether or not he's biologically related to me doesn't matter. He's aligned with Esmail. That means he's our enemy. End of story."

"That's cold, even for you, Shaw," Reese said. She tried to ignore the concerned look he gave her, mirrored by  Screen’s reflection. Screen, fortunately, knew better than to question her.

"Yeah, how far are you gonna take this, because I don't care how much of a bad guy he is, I'm still a cop. I can't let you just torture him," Fusco chimed in.

"The amount of pain he suffers is entirely up to him. It will only become torture if he wants it to."

That didn't seem to assuage anyone's concerns but she was so far past caring. Shaw turned to the center screen, Sancus entering the marble-tiled chamber down the hall. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and drew the knife hanging from his belt. Looking up to the octagonal oculus he closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling, exhaling and making a small incision along the length of his pinkie. Using his other hand to massage the digit, he smeared the blood over the pad of his finger.

 _"Do you know who I am?"_ Sancus asked as he held his bloodied finger over Markus’ forehead.

_"I do."_

_"Good. That makes things simpler. If you know who I am you know what my_ domon _is. If you know what my_ domon _is you know I will get truthful answers."_ Sancus paused for a moment to draw a pair of sigils, one on Markus’ forehead, the other on his chest, over his heart.

_"What is your birth name?"_

_"Ah, very good question. Simple question, clean answer, great for establishing a baseline." Sancus didn't rise to his bait, crossing his arms and staring down at the restrained man. “Markus Creundraven,” Markus replied after a moment._

Everyone looked to Shaw, but she ignored them, gaze burning a hole in the screen.

_“When were you born?”_

_"1602, according to the Gregorian calendar, in what's now called Iran. The village doesn’t exist anymore.”_

_“And what about your patron? Who do your powers come from?”_

_"Demand me nothing; what you know, you know. From this time forth I never will speak word.”_ He gave the camera in the corner a long, hard look, mouth twisting into a rictus of hate.

“Quoting _Othello_? Really? Esmail really has rubbed off on the guy,” Root said, nonplussed.

“Esmail is the prima donna of drama queens; he would expect his sidekick be one too.”

"So, is he gonna do something?" Root asked after a few seconds of Sancus standing stone-still, face impassive.

Shaw made a sharp cutting gesture, staring intently at the monitor as the man calling himself Markus lost his grin and started to fidget. “Not. A. Word,” Shaw growled when Markus scrunched his face up, panting through his nose. Even Root gave her a questioning look when Markus’ stifled whine turned into a full-throated scream.

“I’m sorry, but this has gone too far,” Finch blurted when a full minute passed. Neti stepped in front of the door when Finch turned to it.

“I told you before we started that you’re only here to observe. If you can’t do that, then Neti will escort you downstairs.”

“Ms. Shaw, if you think–”

“Exactly, Finch, _I think_ , and here, when I think, you do. So now you can do what I tell you and be quiet, or Neti can do what I tell him and remove you. Which will it be?”

Finch looked as angry as she’d ever seen him, but he subsided.

Markus’s screams had grown ragged in the interim, tendons and veins standing out as he strained against his bonds. Shaw nodded to Screen, who leaned in and muttered into a mic mounted on the desk. Semo moved forward and pressed his thumbs to the blood-runes, Markus going slack quickly enough that John thought he died for a moment. But he inhaled a moment later, a hoarse, jerky breath.

 _“I take no pleasure in causing you pain, Markus Creundraven,”_ Semo said evenly. _“But neither does it bother me overmuch.”_

_“Esmail told me about you. But you’re even more of an asshole than he said.”_

_“I am simply an instrument of the woman who employs me. Any discomfort you experience purely a result of your obstinacy.”_

“Creundraven’s right,” Fusco muttered. “Dude is a dick.”

“Next person who says a word gets to wait in the lobby,” Shaw growled without looking away from the screens.

_“When did you meet Esmail?”_

_“Must have been a year after he killed Father, after Mother took off. Loxias, one of my father’s ministers, had hidden me away to protect me from my father’s enemies. Esmail found us and explained who he was, who my mother was. He offered to teach me what I needed to know. I’ll admit I wasn’t… receptive to his teachings at first, but he quickly showed me the truth of who my mother is.”_

_“And who do you think she is?”_

_“A liar. A betrayer. A murderess.”_

That seemed to stump Semo for a moment, looking at the camera. “Ask him why Esmail had him reveal himself now.”

Markus gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. _“Because it is part of his plan,”_ he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

_“You need to be more specific if you want to keep the oath-seals from activating.”_

Markus didn’t reply, simply giving a pained grin that said ‘so what?’

Shaw sighed. “Keep questioning him, Semo. In the unlikely chance he actually gives some useful answers, let me know.”

“And what are we gonna be doing?” Root asked.

“Summoning a demon.”

:\\\

The summoning chamber was a hemispherical room a few doors down from where the godsroom where Semo Sancus was continuing Markus’s interrogation. It was Spartan, the only feature of note a perfectly circular ring of pure, polished silver set into the floor. The ring was medium-sized, the ring precisely one-third of the room’s nine-meter width and height.

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised to learn that demons exist at this point,” Finch said to no one in particular.

“Well they do,” Shaw said absently, carefully sweeping the ring to make sure there was nothing that would compromise the integrity of the barrier. “And their reputation for underhanded lawyering and all-around shittiness is entirely deserved, so don’t say a word unless I say to.”

“And this…”

“Chaunzaggoroth,” Shaw supplied.

“Is some kind of information broker?” Finch asked.

“You could say that. Chauncy didn’t invent the concept of fencing info, but he’s definitely honed it to a science in the five-thousand-odd years he’s been doing this, so _don’t say a word unless I say to_ ,” Shaw said, pausing in her sweeping to shoot a look at Root.

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked.

“Because I’ve never met anyone who’s as bad at following instructions as you. So don’t say a word unless I say to,” she repeated for the third time. “Information is more dangerous than any weapon in Chauncy’s claws.”

Satisfied that the summoning circle was clear of dust, she turned to Reese. “Time for you to earn your keep, Reese.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Perform the summoning. It works better if someone with a soul does the calling.” Shaw drew a small knife from a pocket and handed it to Reese. “Prick a finger and get a few drops of blood on the ring, then say his name three times, holding it in your mind. When he appears, he’s gonna try to break free, so you have to focus on the circle. Picture a brick wall from floor to ceiling and hold that image in your mind with all your might, or he’ll break free and try to kill us all. After, he’s gonna insist on making a deal with you and since he doesn’t know you, he’s gonna want your name, but no matter what he offers, only give him one.”

Shaw backed away, pushing Finch and Root behind her. Reese did as she instructed, the space inside the summoning circle suddenly occupied by a screaming, hissing, thrashing, demon. The entity known as Chaunzagoroth was equal parts human and crab, standing on two feet but covered in rough, gray triangular scales, arms ending in a pair of oversized claws and head distinctly avian in appearance, a pair of beady black eyes over a predatory beak.

This went on for almost a minute, the strain on Reese showing as he started to sweat, going red in the face. And then Chaunzaggoroth stopped as suddenly as he’d appeared, stepping away from the silver ring and pulling a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from under a scale and perching them on his beak.

“Ah, Aurine Encariol, what a pleasant surprise,” Chaunzaggoroth said, his chitinous features unexpectedly expressive. “And you have some new friends. Care to introduce me?” His voice didn’t match his form, his clearly enunciated English inflected with a perfect Oxford accent.

“Not likely, Chauncy,” Shaw replied, stepping forward. “You know you’re dealing with me so leave the others alone.”

“Ah, but you’re not the one who summoned me, Aurine Encariol. You know the rules, I must deal with the person who called me before I can move on to other business. Now, what is your name, mortal? Your real name, if you please.”

Reese glanced at Shaw. “Deal first, then one name.”

“In exchange for one of my names, you answer Shaw’s questions… completely and to her satisfaction,” John added quickly after a second.

Chauncy tilted his head slightly, black, beady eyes examining him before nodding once. “Agreed.”

“Is the man calling himself Markus Creundraven who he says he is?”

“It is the name he identifies with.”

That didn’t satisfy Shaw at all, only seeming prod her anger to the surface as her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists. “And Esmail… What’s his endgame? What is he doing with Samaritan and Markus?”

“When have you ever known Esmail Encariol to truly operate with a plan?”

Shaw gave Chauncy an unimpressed look. “Fine. Why did they want us out of the city?"

Chaunzaggoroth gave a thoroughly unsettling grin. "You really have been out of touch if you haven't heard."

"We know about the PC’s assassination. Was that the only reason?”

Chauncy nodded. “Samaritan knew his… removal would be impossible if you were in a position to intervene.”

“How did Samaritan manage such a plot without the Machine’s knowledge?” Finch asked from the back.

Chauncey shook his head. "Sorry, but that information is more than a single Name of a non-Practitioner is worth."

Shaw made a cutting motion before John could say anything. “However it disguised its plan, can it do it again?” Shaw asked.

"That's actually been a matter of some debate," Chauncey said with an air of reluctant admission.

"What do you mean ‘debate?’ Are you saying the Down Below can't see what Samaritan is doing?"

"Only sometimes," the demon snapped. "The Underlords have been working on the problem,” he continued after a moment.

Root could confidently say that Shaw was one of the most composed people she’d ever met, but hearing this news seemed to rattle her. “Sweetie?” A lesser person might have taken offense at the glare Shaw shot her, but she could see the very real undercurrent of worry that laced the look.

“However, the information isn’t worth one of his names, it _is_ worth one of _hers_.” Chauncy’s gaze locked on Root and Shaw could see the hunger in his eyes.

“Don’t say a word,” Shaw said turning to look back.

“Sweetie, we need to know what Samaritan is doing. My name is a fair trade.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t know what this asshole can do with just a little bit of knowledge.” Root got a mulish look in her eye. “Seriously, not a word.”

Root huffed and Shaw turned back to the caged demon.

“Fine. If you can’t tell how, then why? Why does Samaritan want Michael Hodell in charge?”

“Samaritan is planning a… readjustment of the current criminal-law enforcement equilibrium.”

“Non-answers don’t get you a Name, Chauncy.”

“Samaritan is planning a series of prison breakouts across the nation in the immediate future. It will use the resulting spike in crime to have several of the congressmen it controls to rush a bill through Congress that will allow authorized law enforcement officials to perform on-the-spot executions of sanctioned criminals.”

That sent a chill down Shaw’s spine. Samaritan’s operatives already had shoot-to-kill orders; the last thing they needed was to have the NYPD doing the same. Finch stepped forward, frowning. “It seems unlikely that a simple crime wave would be enough pass a law legalizing the outright killing of American citizens, no matter how severe.”

Chauncy didn’t reply, merely arching an eyebrow, as if to say ‘if you insist.’

“When Chaunzaggoroth says something, it’s the truth. He won’t lie.”

“How do we stop it, then?” Reese asked.

“That I couldn’t say. All I can suggest is you try to block Hodell’s appointment to commissioner, or deal with the mayor. There are others who might be less inclined to follow through on the legislature’s decrees.”

That didn’t please anyone, Chaunzaggoroth frowning at the less-than-thrilled reception his words earned.  Chauncey sighed. “Very well. If that is all, I’ll be having your Name now.”

Shaw glanced at the rest of the group and when nobody seemed to have anything else to ask, she nodded to John. John said his name and Chaunzaggoroth repeated it, mirroring Reese’s inflection exactly. He gave one last smile and then shrank to the size of a pinhead before disappearing with a tiny _pop._

“That has to be one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen,” Finch said a moment later.

“I did warn you shit’s just gonna get weirder.”

“What are we gonna do about the new commissioner? We can _not_ let cops start killing people, criminals or not.” John said.

Root rolled her eyes. “Hello, world’s best hacker here! Blocking his appointment is just a matter of ones and zeroes.”

“Root we’re not–”

“So what’s your idea, Finch?” Shaw interrupted. “Because this needs to be shut down now.”

“I don’t have one right now, but we are better than framing otherwise honest police.”

“Do we know that this Hodell guy is honest though? Maybe that’s why Samaritan wants him in charge of the police.”

“I can do some digging to find out.” Reese offered. “I’ll take a couple days before he gets sworn in so we have some time before we have to do anything drastic.”

Shaw let out a frustrated sigh. “Drastic is what we need. We’ve been here before, with McCourt. Not doing the drastic thing then is why we’re dealing with Samaritan at all. I know you don’t like it, Finch, but we may have to do the ugly thing.” She paused for a moment. “But… ugly won’t be our first option.”

Finch looked at his phone. “I appreciate that. But it’s after eight, so I should get back to the subway and see what I can do about a plan A, so things don’t have to get ugly.”

Root and Reese started to follow him, but Shaw held them back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “We need to do whatever we have to stop this guy from becoming commissioner.”

“What about Finch?” Root asked.

“Finch is a good man. Good men don’t win wars. If we don’t want to be crushed we have to be willing to do things he can’t stomach.”

“That sounds like you’re not just talking about the commissioner.”

“You’re right. We keep fighting this war the way Finch wants, we lose, end of story. We have to start fighting this war on Samaritan’s terms.” The other two exchanged a look, making Shaw scowl. “You guys know I’m right.”

“I’m not disagreeing, Sweetie, but it’s not just Finch’s rules, it’s Hers too.”

Now it was Shaw’s turn to roll her eyes. “Finch built the damn thing; of course She’s not gonna do anything to disappoint Daddy. Frankly, this is something I’d expect an AI to understand.”

“So what are you saying, Shaw? We just stop listening to Finch?”

“I’m saying, take his opinions under consideration, but we do what we have to Reese.”

“Don’t look at me, John,” Root said when he did. “I’m with her on this.”

“Enough that you’d be willing to disobey the Machine?”

“I’ll do whatever I have to to protect her,” Root replied with a stony look. “She may not like it, but She’ll understand.”

“And what do we say when Finch finds out? Because he will.”

“Personally, I won’t lose any sleep over whatever he thinks. He wants to end up in a pauper’s grave, more power to him. Me? I intend to kill that fucking AI.”

“I don’t think Finch wants to lose, he just doesn’t want to win by becoming the villains ourselves,” Reese disagreed.

Shaw scoffed. “You were Delta, then worked for the Special Activities Division, Reese. You know you don’t win wars with clean hands.”

“I’m not saying you do, but there are lines we didn’t cross, even in the SAD. I just want to make sure we don’t cross them either.”

Shaw growled in frustration. “That’s what I’m talking about. Do you think Samaritan is gonna get squeamish about crossing lines?”

“We can’t become the thing we’re fighting,” Reese persisted.

“I’ll be sure to give a nice eulogy when Samaritan uses that nice-guy attitude against you.”

“Root, help me out here.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m not siding with you against Shaw. I know better than that.” Shaw smirked in an entirely-too-satisfied manner.

“Fine, whatever. Just as long as you acknowledge both you and Finch have valid points. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Sure Reese. Valid points leading to six feet under.”

Now it was Reese’s turn to look sour. “Why are you pushing this idea of fighting at Samaritan’s level so hard?” Shaw caught herself quickly, but not before Reese saw her gaze flick to Root. “Root can take care of herself, you know.”

“Really? You think Root has a prayer when Samaritan has the PC put a kill-order on her head, so then not only does she have to worry about Esmail, but she has to worry about the cops shooting her on sight? That’s what, thirty thousand men and women looking to bring her in, dead or alive?”

“You too, Sam. Your face is right next to mine on the wanted poster.”

“Yeah but you’re the one who stays down when you get put down.”

“It won’t come to that. We’ll stop this thing, like we always do.”

“Like we stopped the PC’s killing? I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention John, but we’re losing this war. We’ve been losing pretty much since the moment Samaritan came online. And we’re gonna keep losing until we decide we will do what’s necessary to do what it takes to win.”

“You’re determined to go your own way on this, aren’t you?”

“I’m determined to win. I’m determined to end the danger, to protect what’s mine.”

Reese looked perturbed but seemed to finally realize it wasn’t an argument he wasn’t going to win. “Fine. Just give me a heads up before you do anything that might get a BOLO put out. And I’m an extra gun, whenever you need one.”

“As long as you’re not coming along just to cockblock, sure.”

“I’m gonna start doing my research on the acting PC, see if he needs to be removed at all. You keep saying we need more allies. The city’s top cop would be a valuable resource.”

“Sure, if you think you can turn him. But I’m telling you right now, I’m killing him before I’ll let Samaritan turn the NYPD into its personal hitsquad.”

“Hey, I already said I agree with you. I’m just looking to leverage what few possible advantages we have.”

“You should let us know as soon as you know, one way or another,” Root said with a significant look. John nodded, then headed down the hall to the elevators.

“You’re horny, aren’t you?” Shaw asked with an expression that said she already knew the answer.

Root didn’t dignify that with a response, pulling Shaw away from the wall and throwing her over her shoulder, grinning at the surprised squawk Shaw let out. It was a good thing they were the only ones out in the hallway or Shaw’s indignation at the undignified treatment may have overridden her willingness to oblige her libido. Either way, Root was going to do her best to ensure Shaw the only thing Shaw could think about in the morning was how to collect her brains off the ceiling.


	33. Convocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le gasp! Is this a second chapter in thirty days! Sadly (happily) its the last chapter of this work, but I hope its an ending everyone finds worthy. 
> 
> On to the show!

“What are you doing?” the being known as Sameen Shaw asked as she woke up. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her the sun probably wasn’t up yet. Root was still next to her in bed, fortunately, but she was propped up against the headboard, fiddling with her phone. Shaw rolled on her side to reach for it but Root extended her arm in the opposite direction.

“We have a number. Finch needs us at the subway.” Root slid out between the sheets, slinking to the ensuite. Shaw laid back but kept her eyes on Root’s retreating backside. It was a sight she’d never, ever tire of. What was tiring was her constant, unending need for the other woman. The hacker had been out of her sight for less than ten seconds, yet the desire to stay in her bed with its three-thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets and goose-down mattress and pillows was quickly overwhelmed by the urge to join Root in the shower.

Neti was waiting for them in her antechamber. “Any update on Markus?” Shaw asked, tucking her sidearm into her waistband.

“I’m afraid not, my Lady. His pain tolerance is… considerable. Semo Sancus is consulting with a specialist on alternative interrogation methods. He says he hopes to make some progress by the end of the day.”

Shaw looked unimpressed. “Tell him to keep at it. Right now he’s our best chance to gain a better idea of Samaritan’s plans.”

“My Lady, if I may suggest, from what I’ve heard… this sounds like it might be a good time to involve the Order.”

“Not yet. It’s hard enough getting everyone in the same room; I can’t afford to waste the one opportunity I’ll get without a concrete plan.”

“May I at least make the arrangements?”

Shaw nodded. “Make them for here at the Hotel. End of the week.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” Neti said with a brief bow.

They stepped into the elevator and Root slid her hand into Shaw’s. “Who is Neti? I looked him up. He’s some kind of Egyptian death god, right?”

“Yep. Egyptians have a couple dozen at least and they get competitive over who collects the most souls. Souls are power, currency for the immortalia. Neti was the gatekeeper for a Mesopotamian death goddess named Erishkigal. She was one of the early ones so ended up being pretty powerful for a while. Too powerful, made some others jealous. Death gods make good judges of character so I took him in after, made him the concierge. Been with me ever since.”

“So what, he owes you his life? Unlife? Is he dead?”

“No, he’s alive, though don’t let him bleed on you. Any immortal really.”

“Why?”

“Their blood’s inimical to mortals. Shit burns like acid, burns the life right out of you.”

“Noted. What about you? Will your blood kill me?”

“No, Pillar blood is just like everyone else's. The ascension ritual changes us, but our blood stays the same. Scarlett saying anything about our number?”

Root shook her head. “But She’ll tell me if there’s anything critical.”

Root parked her motorcycle in her usual alleyway and Shaw followed Root into the subway, still holding hands. “Root, Ms. Shaw good timing. You remember my fiancee, Grace.”

The redhead was sitting in a chair next to Finch, hands folded between her legs and looking thoroughly out of place. She rose and offered a hand.

“Ms. Shaw, you were one of the ones who saved me from that Greer man. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

“No thanks necessary. I was just doing my job.”

“I’m Root, Sameen’s girlfriend,” the taller woman said, thrusting out her hand.

Root cast her gaze to the side as she shook Grace’s hand, curious to see how Shaw would react to her use of the g-word.

The Persian’s expression was tight, but Shaw didn’t offer an immediate objection to Root’s pleasure and surprise.

“Getting back to the matter at hand, we have another student number, Brittany McClesky.” The number was a cheerleader according to her photo, a blue-eyed redhead with an exuberant smile. “Ms. McClesky is a stellar student at St. Severinus Academy, 4.0 GPA, honor roll, all-AP classes.”

“Got a read on the threat yet?” Shaw asked.

“Not at the moment, but I have a theory.” Finch tapped a button and six more photos appeared, crime-scene photos this time.

“You think she’s gonna be the next victim of the Cheer Squad Killer,” Root said, a little surprised. “He’s about due for another murder if what I’ve read is right.”

“You’re right. She fits the profile. He’s killed six high school students, all cheerleaders, all pretty, all academically inclined, all attended expensive, private preparatory academies.”

“What’s the plan?”

“You’ll be going in undercover, Ms. Shaw.” He handed her a manila folder. “You’ll be Nasreen Bahrami, subbing for Coach William Bellicheck. You did gymnastics as a child, if I’m not mistaken.”

Shaw shook her head. “I can’t. I’m trying to get us help to fight Samaritan.”

“As important as our fight against Samaritan is, this is equally so.”

“Not to me. Have Reese or Fusco stake out the school.”

“They’ve been made aware of the situation but neither of them is better suited to protect Ms. McClesky.”

“You’re talking about going in as a teacher to watch this girl?” Grace asked. “Let me do it.”

“Absolutely not, Grace. It’s far too dangerous.”

“What’s so dangerous about pretending to be a schoolteacher?”

“This young woman is being hunted by a person who’s killed at least six other young women. You have no combat training, no experience with firearms. What can you do if our perpetrator tries to take Ms. McClesky while you’re with her?”

“Root can back her up,” Shaw said. “Screw with their computer network and send Root in to fix it.”

“My dance card is clear for the moment,” Root said when everyone looked at her.

“I need to do something, Harold. I can’t just sit in our apartment every day with nothing to do but worry. And besides, the Cheering Squad Killer’s never taken one of his victims from school grounds.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Finch protested.

“That would be a huge change in his MO and an incredibly risky one at that. If this school is as upscale as it sounds, it’s gotta have private security, surveillance.”

“Ms. Shaw is right, Finch. And even if I don’t have her training or skills, I’m a woman in New York City. I do have some idea of how to fend off an attacker.

Finch looked around and seemed to realize this wasn’t a fight he was going to win. “I’ll need to tweak your cover, but I should be able to do that in a few minutes. Since you’re not going to be assisting with this number perhaps you have an update on our police problem?”

“I’m on that. John got me Holdell’s personnel file. I’ll do a little research and maybe have a chat with him.”

“Ms. Groves—”

“No, Finch,” Shaw interrupted. “She’s gonna do what she has to. And I’ve been thinking we need to have a talk about your role in the fight.”

“Ms. Shaw,” Finch began, swiveling in his chair.

“You are going to lose us the war, Finch.You don’t have the stomach to fight this fight.”

Finch’s brows creased and he pushed himself to his feet. “Just because I’m not willing to condone blackmail and torture doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult; I mean it as a compliment. Your morals are a strength, just not the kind of strength we need. I’ve been many things over my life, empress, queen, warrior, soldier, assassin. Murderer and sin-eater. Mother more times than I can count. I’ve fought in more wars than years you’ve lived. One thing I’ve never been in all that time is good.”

“Sameen—”

“No, Root, I’ve done good things but never just because they’re good. And you should be thankful for it. Against something as utterly amoral as Samaritan, ‘good’ is a liability. You know this even if you don’t want to admit it, Harold. You didn’t hire Rick Dillinger and John Reese because they were good men, you hired them because they were capable of doing the things you couldn’t. Things you shouldn’t be able to do.”

“I must say you have a particular talent for insulting a man with one word and complimenting him with the next.”

“George Orwell once said people sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. John, Root and I are those rough men. Let me put it another way. Should you expect a sports team to be able to win a game when their opponents ignore the rules?”

Finch sat back in his chair, a troubled look on his face. “Your words carry uncomfortable truths.”

“I don't mean for them to. But I can’t—  _ won’t _ let your morality kill Root.”

“I understand you want to protect Ms. Groves—”

“Think of it like this. You’re born, grow up thinking you’re gonna find someone to grow old and die with. Except something happens to you and you don’t. You don’t age, don’t grow old. Then the people you know start dying. This goes on for hundreds and hundreds of years. Long enough that even though you know logically you will find your soulmate, your other half, your final rest, you start to wonder. And then, once you’ve become sure, you find the one person you won’t leave behind. And then, on top of all that, she turns out to be a Machine-crazy hacker without a grain of self-preservation. So yeah, Finch, you could say I want to protect her.”

“Root,” Finch said, switching tack, “You must have some thoughts on Ms. Shaw’s… protectiveness.”

“It’s A-okay with me. I don’t have any particular desire to die anytime soon.”

“So Harold was telling the truth, you’re one of these… Pillars,” Grace said with a tone that said she didn’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth.

Shaw nodded. “You already met another, Euphrati. One of the men working for Samaritan is one too.”

Shaw’s little speech didn’t please Finch but he seemed to accept this wasn’t an argument he was going to win today. “Grace, you should get going. Your first class isn’t for several hours but you do have an appointment with the principal in less than an hour.”

“I can drop you off before I start my digging into the acting commissioner.”

“That would be nice. I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.”

“Grab a helmet and let’s go then.”

:\\\

“Hey, what do you got for me?” Shaw asked after she punched the speaker button on the office phone sitting on her desk.

_ “Hodell seems on the up-and-up. If he’s on Samaritan’s payroll, I can’t find any proof. So far, it looks like Samaritan picked him because of his views. Former soldier, retired Army Green Beret.  Republican, anti-gun control, pro-surveillance, strong proponent of more paramilitary-style policing.” _

“Any of his new subordinates likely to be less inclined to go all New World Order on the city?”

_ ”Pretty much all of them. Hodell is one of the more outspoken members of the Department. A little extremist if you ask me.” _

“Okay, seems like a problem with a simple enough solution. Figure out which deputy commissioner we like best and start planting scandals until he gets the job.”

_ “My thoughts exactly. Going to be a little rough on the Department, but it’ll come out the other side better. Probably.” _

Shaw snorted. “Yeah, because you’re all about the NYPD’s public image.”

_ “I don’t have any particular ill-will towards it. It’s a fine enough example of the institution. Anyways, that isn’t the only thing I’ve been doing with my day. I just got out of a meeting with a Senator Nicholas Flynn, one of the future co-sponsors of the Proactive Offense and Lawful Interdiction of the Criminal Element Act.” _

“And?”

_ “It’s worse than we thought. I managed to pull some data off the congressional network, including the full text of the proposed bill.” _

“And what’s the worse part?”

_ “Besides having a disturbingly low threshold for on-the-spot executions, I’m not sure we can stop it. The bill has twenty cosponsors already, Senator Flynn being one of the less influential senators. Too many to frame or kill, not before Samaritan sets its plan in motion, I think. Chaunzaggoroth seemed to think Samaritan’s plan was going to be implemented very soon.” _

“Scarlett have any input?”

_ “Not much. She’s helped me identify the lawmakers Samaritan’s controlling, but She hasn’t provided a plan to stop them yet.” _

“We can’t just let this happen, there has to be something we can do.”

_ “Not arguing with you babe, but if Samaritan wants something bad enough, like it seems to with this, I’m not sure we’re enough to stop it.” _

“If we can’t stop the senators from voting for it, can we stop the vote? Delay it?”

_ “That was my thought as well. But I think we have to prepare ourselves for the possibility that Samaritan will have planned for this.” _

“Even if it has, we have to fight it on every front, at every chance.”

_ “I’m not saying we not do any of that, I’m saying I’m not sure we can win.” _

“That’s unusually defeatist of you.”

Root let out a long, low, sigh.  _ “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be. It’s just frustrating going up against something that has us outsmarted and outgunned at every turn.” _

“I can’t do anything about being outsmarted, but I’m working on being outgunned.”

_ “You talking about this mysterious Order Neti mentioned?” _

“Yeah, the Ordo Malleus. It’s a group of supernal and supernaturally inclined people who combat paranormal threats. Grew out of the Knights Templar and medieval Roman Inquisition. Grew beyond the Church, although the Vatican does provide some funding and materiel support.”

_ “You’re talking about Pillars?” _

“And others. It doesn’t meet often and acts together even more rarely. It’s sorta like the UN Security Council of the supernatural. Effective when it can be mobilized, but difficult to get there. We’ll only get one chance to get the Order involved. We can’t afford to get it wrong.”

_ “How many members does the Order have?” _

“Thirteen. A representative each from Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, the Council of Warlocks, the White Council, the UN Office of the Supernal, a couple of us Pillars and a couple .”

_ “The  _ United Nations  _ has what, an X-Files office?” _

“Basically. They deal with all the weird, hinky shit in places that don’t have resources to deal with that kind of thing. Charged with spearheading and coordinating multinational  efforts.”

_ “So, like UNIT.” _

“It’s a unit, yeah I guess.”

_ “No, I mean the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. From Dr. Who. They help out the Doctor when Earth gets invaded or displaced or stolen or anything.” _

“I guess, though the Order’s not like a military or paramilitary unit or anything. There’s no real command structure or hierarchy.”

_ “So what, you saying members don’t have to do anything if they don’t want to?” _

“Five members with a quorum of eight need to vote in order to use Ordo resources and not all situations require all members skillsets. And no, there’s nothing the Order can do if a member is adamantly opposed to assisting.”

_ “Anything’s better than nothing at this point.” _

“It’s not an army but it’s more than what we got now,” Shaw agreed. "The first step will be to get everyone to meet, though I don't think that should be too hard this time."

_ "Why would it be hard at all?" _

"Remember when I said it took five votes to get Ordo resources? Same idea. Need to have a Pillar, a cleric and a god to convene a session."

_ "John told me about his and Harold's trip to Italy. This Cardano character seems like he'd be willing to help, so who would be the third?" _

"This is why it's hard to even get a meeting. Gods kind of hate Pillars on principle and have little love for the Abrahamic religions for basically stealing everyone's worshippers."

_ "Are there any that don't hate your guts?" _

"Yeah, one. My creator."

:\\\

Shaw had a training dummy brought up to her office, Root working on her forms while Shaw did paperwork, offering the occasional criticism or correction.

They had only been up for an hour or so when the door to the outer room opened and a woman stepped through. She was a vision, statuesque, stunning in her beauty and elegant in dress.

“Well, isn't this a delight,” the woman purred as she gave Shaw a slow once-over. Root tensed where she stood by the dummy, not liking the possessive nature of her look. “It’s been far too long dearest, almost half a millennium.”

Shaw scowled. “And I could go another five hundred but I need your help.”

“Well isn't that a novel idea, the infamously independent Aurine Encariol asking for help.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Cut the crap, Cytheria. You know why I called you.”

“Wait, you’re Cytheria? You were there at the beginning when Sameen became a Pillar?”

The woman nodded, slinking around Shaw’s desk, dragging a perfectly manicured nail along the polished wood. “Well, since your friend seem to be in the know, why don't you tell her what my real name is?”

“Aphrodite,” Shaw ground out a moment later, and suddenly a lot of things made sense to Root.

“Sweetie,” Root started carefully. “You two didn’t—”

“Date?” Aphrodite interrupted, laughing sinfully as she turned to glide towards her. “No, we didn’t date. We fucked. Endlessly for centuries.”

“That’s enough,” Shaw said suddenly, surging to her feet and catching Aphrodite’s wrist before she touched Root. That caused Aphrodite to pause and looked at the pair.

“Really? This is what you replaced Esmail with?”

“She doesn't replace anyone; she is her own person, and you will leave her alone.”

“Count yourself lucky; I remember what that feels like, having her affection. It’s a powerful thing and will last for most of your lifetime. But she will bore eventually and then you will find out what it’s like to be on the other side of that affection.”

“Aphrodite,” Shaw cut in again, sharply. “Leave her alone. I’m the one who came to you.”

“And why did you come to me before, dearest Aurine?” Aphrodite asked.

“You need to call the Order, Aphrodite.”

“”Why?”

“Because there’s a new divinity in town. A God of Knowledge.”

Aphrodite stilled. “Why do you say this?” She whispered sharply enough to cut.

“Because it’s true. Its name is Samaritan; born as a surveillance AI. No physical form, but had functional omniscience.”

“Have you told any of the others? Your Hotel?”

"Euphrati, Elswit and the New York Sumir know. I haven't contacted anyone else."

“Why not?”

“You know why; they’ll ignore me but they won’t ignore a gathering of the Ordo.”

Aphrodite gave Shaw a long, searching look before she nodded very slowly. “I’ll talk to Euphrati and do it.”

“You dated Aphrodite?” Root asked incredulously when she’d gone.

Shaw groaned. “She’s a goddess of love.  _ The  _ Goddess of Love. Her type gets with everybody given enough time. And she’s one of the oldest.”

“Still. Aphrodite. That’s certainly a name to underline in your little black book.”

“You can't tell the boys about anything she told you.”

“That I screwed Aphrodite by the transitive property?”

“John would never forget it. And play your cards right, you might be able to take the transitive out of that sentence. Hell, you could probably seal the deal with some passing interest. "

“And you’d be okay with that?” Root asked slowly.

“It’s Aphrodite. She’s the best lay on Earth. It's literally her superpower. And it’s not like we ever agreed to be monogamous.”

Root got very still and Shaw squeezed her eyes closed, immediately regretting her words. “And before you get all offended or indignant, I have been.”

“Good to know. And I’d consider it if you did too.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “You’re such a perv.”

“I prefer ‘opportunist.’ I mean, who wouldn’t take the chance to spend the night with the two sexiest women in the world?”

“Very smooth, Donna Juanita,” Shaw complimented in a dry tone.

“But seriously, you’d be okay with me and her?”

“Yeah, mostly because I know it’d be a three-time thing, max.”

“You don't think I’d leave you for the woman you just said fucks better than anyone else?”

“Setting aside how you're my Stele for a moment, Aphrodite is wholly incapable of monogamy."

"You make her sound like a slut."

"She kinda is, but it's not really a conscious thing for her. It's just a part of her  _ domon _ as the Goddess of Love. "

"I've heard that term used a couple of times now, what does it mean?"

"It means ‘font of power’ in the Golden Tongue. All gods and Pillars source their power from a single basic concept that their powers and abilities come from. For me, it's travel. Esmail is conflict, Semo Sancus is oaths, Elswit is lies. But with gods, their  _ domon  _ doesn't just determine their powers, it affects their personality. Aphrodite is physically incapable of not sleeping around."

"Makes sense, I guess. But what about Zeus? His domon wasn’t sex or something, was it?"

“No, it was storms. Why?”

“It's just I remember doing Greek mythology in high school and it's like at least half the problems the Olympians has to deal with stemmed from him not being able to keep it in his pants."

"Oh, totally. Zeus was the original sex addict. Truthfully, Hera was a bitch, but killing her was just as much putting her out of her misery as for anything she’d done.”

“Hera sounded like a real shrew.”

“She was, but she wasn’t without reason. Zeus was hardly husband of the year.”

“Fine,” Root agreed after a long moment. “But I’m not gonna forget this.”

“I wouldn't expect you to. Just for once in your life don’t make me wish I’d never set eyes on you.”

Root’s sparking eyes promised nothing.

:\\\

The chamber the Ordo Malleus met in was a room much like the one the demon Chaunzaggoroth had been summoned in, though larger. The main feature of the room was a circular table, a sigil or crest carved into the wood before each of the thirteen chairs, contained in a ring of silver.

The eight people seated were as varied as it was possible to be, black, white and Asian, male and female.

“Thank you all for meeting on short notice,” Shaw began, taking her place at the table. Finch, Reese, and Root were in the room as well, along with at least twenty others, followers, acolytes and hangers-on of the other Order members.

“Hood,” a bald albino said. “So kind of you to join us. Especially seeing as you had this session called.”

“And I appreciate you listening, Carrionite. I know everyone has better things to be doing, so I’ll get straight to the point. A God of Knowledge has ascended, Samaritan”

Absolute silence followed Shaw’s statement. each of the figures of power that surrounded the table looking uneasily at one another. “You’re sure? There hasn’t been a divine ascension in four thousand years.”

“I can confirm it myself,” Euphrati said, seated next to Shaw. “I’ve witnessed it myself.”

“Can anyone other than a Pillar corroborate this… fantasy? A god of knowledge? It’s preposterous.”

The speaker was a man, elderly but hale, hair as white as it got. He cast his gaze around the table, his glass eye making the gesture a little uncomfortable to meet.

“Aurine is hardly prone to flights of fancy and her  _ domon  _ is miles from dishonesty. If she says there’s a new divinity, I believe her.”

“Coming from you, Aphrodite, that’s not hard to believe,” a middle-aged man sitting before a Star of David said. “Forgive my impertinence, Goddess, but you’ve never been known as particularly credulous.”

“I’ve seen it,” Euphrati said, finally speaking up. “I’ve felt it, battled it. It exerts influence over the physical world without a proximate physical presence. Or do you doubt my word, Rabbi Goron?”

“Of course not, Abbess. But someone can believe something in good faith and still be mistaken.”

The red-robed women seated behind the diminutive woman stiffened at the accusation but subsided when Giancarlo Cardano, the Vatican representative held up his hand, palm out to get everyone’s attention.

“I cannot attest to the existence of this new god, but the Abbess is the Pillar of the God of Abraham. I’ve read the records of the Order. As far as I can tell, she’s never been wrong. Does anyone want to claim she’s been fooled now?”

“Only the Buddha is perfect. As you Westerners are fond of saying, there’s a first time for everything.”

“True,” Euphrati agreed. “But can anyone here break a Seal of Solomon? Because I tried to use one at one of Samaritan’s buildings and it burned a hole through ten stories.”

“You’re talking about the Decima building that the news said got bombed?” the elderly man asked.

“It wasn’t a bomb,” Shaw said. “Or are you saying that we’re both lying, Langbard?”

Langbard scowled. “You aren’t going to bait me that easily, Encariol. Certainly not here in your place of power. What I really want to know is what your lover is doing here in the city?”

“Working for Samaritan. And he hasn’t been my lover since the sixteen hundreds.”

“We accept that you believe that there's a new god in the city. What do you want from the Order?”

“Samaritan is taking over the country. It already has control over the intelligence agencies and increasing its hold on Congress. If it stops at taking over the US, I’d be amazed. It wants to control everything, control everyone. I need the Order’s help to stop it.”

“And what would that entail?” The speaker had watched impassively so far, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a dark suit without a tie, hair slicked back. “There are rumors that the Americans have incorporated an AI into their intelligence apparatus. Now, I’m just a regular person, I’ve never attended a meeting of the Order, but my understanding is that the Order isn’t supposed to interfere with the internal workings of sovereign nations. If this AI works for the American government, what right does this organization have to destroy it, because that sounds like what you’re asking us to do.”

“The government doesn’t know what it’s dealing with. Samaritan has slipped its leash without anyone the wiser. And besides, Samaritan is our jurisdiction now.”

“If what you say is true,” the UN representative rebutted. “If this AI actually has ascended.”

The albino sat forward, folding his hands on the table. “Aurine, we’ve known each other since before we were called Pillars. I believe you when you say this AI has become divine. Unless anyone has anything else to add, I say we vote. Those in favor of the Order combatting the AI known as Samaritan.”

Shaw raised her hand, of course, followed by Aphrodite, Euphrati, Cardano, and Carrionite.

“The ayes have it,” Aphrodite said. “The Order goes to war.”

**End of Book One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me over these last three years through my infrequent and sporadic updates. If I was a better writer, I would be able to tell you when the first chapter of Book Two would be posted (or even its title) but I'm not, so all I can say is subscribe to me and cross your fingers.
> 
> See you in Book Two!


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